


Falling Stars

by SerenLyall



Series: We Who Wander This Wasteland [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Dark Fic AU, Dehumanization, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Torture, Underage Rape/Non-con, if there's anything else you want me to/think i should tag for let me know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:05:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 159,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenLyall/pseuds/SerenLyall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Leia Organa is discovered to be Force Sensitive at the age of nine, the fate of the galaxy is radically altered. Now a prisoner of the Empire, with the Emperor's will bent upon turning her to the Dark Side, Leia will face fear and pain the likes of which she could never have imagined. Her only shields are her stubbornness and her anger - and a strange boy's voice whispering to her from the shadows of her mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first book in an expansive AU series, which began with me asking myself, "Would it be possible for Leia Organa to resist falling to the Dark Side if she was taken as a child?" The idea quickly expanded far beyond an answer to that question, and at this point I have through book 2 at least roughly outlined.
> 
> I have based the Alderaanian language off of Spanish as a way to honor Jimmy Smits, who identifies as Puerto Rican.
> 
> Again, please note the rating and the warnings. This is an incredibly dark story - though I will promise you all that there are also moments of light and hope as well.
> 
> Huge, enormous thanks to everyone who has helped me with this: (tumblr users) absynthe--minded who has encouraged me from the very beginning, and who has put up with reading all 17 drafts of each chapter; princess-sansa-of-ithilien who has given her support and her advice, and who has been excited for this story even though she isn't really into fanfiction; actual-general-organa who has been screaming profanities at me since about day 2; ewokshootsfirst, justenhunterwriter, and steelrigged-blog who have all given me awesome critiques.
> 
> And now, without further ado, let us begin.

** WE WHO WANDER THIS WASTELAND BOOK I **

**FALLING STARS**

_“Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland, in search of our better selves.”_

_–The First History of Man_

_(Mad Max: Fury Road)_

 

* * *

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

Bail Organa had a headache.

He sat at his desk, lost in thought, and stared out of his window at the glistening, snow-clad rim of the caldera in which Aldera was situated. A forefinger tapped a staccato rhythm against the datapad nearest at hand, a soft dissonance to the painful throb lodged at the base of his skull and behind his eyes.

The headache had begun that morning as a small worm of an ache, as familiar as it was despised: residue of too short a night’s poor sleep. He had hoped to be rid of it after a cup of caf—but, even after Breha had kissed him and left, leaving him alone at the table on the balcony to nurse his third cup, the headache had stubbornly remained.

And as the day had progressed, the throbbing behind his eyes had only grown louder and larger.

On almost any day of the year, Bail would claim that being at home on Alderaan was far more peaceful than sitting in the Senate—or even simply being on Coruscant. If anyone had asked him that question now, however, sitting with the weight of the events of the day on his shoulders, Bail thought he just might wish for a good, old-fashioned Senate debate.

There was an old Jedi saying that Padmé had liked to quote, on late nights spent in the Senate, or in one of their offices working huddled over datapads and dataterminals. “Without pain, there is no gain,” she would say, eyes glinting above that half-smile of hers that always promised trouble.

“I just hope,” Bail murmured, with a sigh to the quiet memory of his friend, staring off into the middle of nothing, “that this pain provides gain.”

It was moments like this, sitting at his desk with the work that he prayed would promise hope to the galaxy spread around him, that Bail missed Padmé Amidala most. Her presence, her smile, her voice had always seemed to him like a shard of that very hope for which he had worked for so long—a promise in and of itself, spun into words and tone. Even tired and irritable, she had been able to inspire him on the darkest of nights.

 _Well_ , he amended silently after a moment’s thought, the silence punctuating his headache like sharp needles, _perhaps the times I miss her second-most._

There were days, when Leia was cranky and particularly ornery—when she was, in turn, most like her birth mother or father—that in a very secret, very dark place of his heart, Bail wished that he and Breha could hand Leia off to another parent—a parent better-equipped to handle her and her unique personality and all that came with it, both the blessings and curses.

Not that, given a chance, he would ever give up his daughter. Not even on the worst days.

 _Not even after today,_ he told himself, and buried his abused head in his hands. _Especially not after today. After today,_ he thought, _she’ll need_ us _more than ever._ The old fear, sour and stale in his throat, crawled once more onto his shoulders. His head throbbed again.

“Much like her father, I fear she will be,” Yoda had told him, in his final farewell. “Temper her anger, her fear, you must.”

“We will,” Bail had promised. “She will be loved with us,” he added, repeating what he had said when he had offered to take Leia to be his and Breha’s daughter.

Yoda had looked at him then, piercing eyes flat and full of sorrow and something darker, more insidious, which Bail would only much later realize was fear. He had met Bail’s gaze, strong and steady and full of warning, and had said, “Enough, that may not be.”

Not for the first time did Bail fear that Yoda was right; not for the first time did the words _She is too much like her father_ drift through Bail’s mind, accompanied by an acid stab of fear. Never before, however, had the reality of his choice those five years ago been so real.

He had been in a meeting when Seltha, Leia’s nursemaid, had entered the council room unannounced. Her face had been pale and drawn, lips thin and white, her eyes over-bright. The guards at the door had scrambled in after her, dismay and apology writ across their faces as they called for her to halt. Bail had lifted a hand, halting them mid-stride, and, ignoring the varying irritated and offended glares shot his way from the rest of the councilors sitting around the table, had motioned for Seltha to draw near. She had knelt by his side, leaned close, and whispered words that Bail had long dreaded hearing.

“There’s been an accident,” she said. “There was a witness.”

Bail felt his blood run cold, then hot, then cold again.

“Excuse me,” he said, rising quickly.

A number of hard looks were leveled at him, ranging from consternation to irritation, and one of the women sitting in attendance of the meeting—a prim, greying matron of the Ministry of Agriculture—tapped her fingers against the tabletop. Bail bowed, his official robes of office fluttering, and said in as even a tone as he could manage, “I fear an emergency has arisen concerning my daughter.”

There was a ripple of emotion around the table, inaudible and barely discernible—a flicker of meeting eyes, a snap of tension in fingers and shoulders and jaws—and then the greying matron herself smiled and rose, bowing in response to Bail. “We will pray that the young princess is safe and well,” she said, and murmurs of agreement echoed around the table. All of them loved their little princess dearly.

“My thanks,” Bail said, smiling at the table. With that he turned and strode for the door, Seltha hurrying in his wake.

She directed him to Leia’s bedroom. It was locked from the inside—which went against family rules—and from the shapes of the shadows underneath the door, it looked like Leia had shoved at least one chair up against it.

He knocked, Seltha at his side.

“Leave me alone.”

The quaver of barely-swallowed tears was thick in Leia’s voice. She sounded far older than her five years.

“Leia, sweetheart,” Bail said, pressing his forehead close to the door, “it’s Papá.”

“Go ‘way,” Leia said again, and that time Bail thought he could hear the hitch of a sob.

“Leia,” he tried again, sterner this time. “You need to open the door.”

Sniffling. Then came the sound of chair legs grinding slowly across wooden floorboards. Bail placed his hand on the door sensor, waited for the click of the lock disengaging—but it did not come.

“I don’t want to see Seltha,” Leia said, voice muffled through the door. “Just you, Papá.”

Bail exchanged a glance with Seltha, and the older woman nodded. Her wrinkled face was creased with worry and her dark eyes were shadowed, but she smiled at him and turned to walk down the hall to the family’s private sitting room.

            Bail watched her go, feeling an odd hollow yawn in his gut. Seltha had not served the family for long—only five years, since Leia was two weeks old—but she had quickly settled in, becoming a cherished member of the Organa family’s household.

            Leia particularly loved the old woman. With her greying hair and her warm smile, the smell of cinnamon and apples that seemed to hang around her like a shawl, and her ability to read aloud with a whole cast of voices, Leia had fallen in love before she was even old enough to toddle around the nursery. Her first steps had been from Bail to Breha, but her second steps were to go find Seltha. Even now, at the age of five, Leia would cry when Seltha went on holiday to visit her own family—a daughter and her daughter’s husband, and their two teenage children—and on the occasions that Seltha was sick, Leia insisted on being the one to care for her.

That Leia didn’t even want to see Seltha now in her distress was strange, and to Bail, more than a little disconcerting. Standing out in the empty, shadowed corridor, he felt a prickle of trepidation worm its way up his spine and into the base of his skull. His headache yawned.

He pushed away the rising ache in his head, and once more leaned close. “It’s just me, Lelila,” he said through the door, once Seltha had disappeared from sight. “Now let me in.”

There was another breath of silence, and then the lock clicked off. The door slid open silently beneath Bail’s touch.

Leia was standing just inside the door, right hand still upraised from disabling the locking mechanism. Her face was red and blotched, cheeks streaked with tears, eyelashes wet and sticky, nose dripping. She sniffed at the sight of her father, took a small step forward as if to run to him—and then checked herself, stopping short before she had moved more than a few centims.

“It’s okay, Lelila,” Bail said and, kneeling, opened his arms to her.

She hesitated only for a second, then she flung herself into his arms. Her small body shuddered with fresh sobs as she planted her face against his chest, fingers tangling in his long robes. He didn’t hesitate to hug her tightly, gathering her closer to him.

“Hush, my Lelila,” he crooned, cupping the back of her head with one hand, smoothing her dark hair. “It’s okay,” he said again and, twisting his head down at an awkward angle, pressed a soft kiss against the crown of her head.

“’m sorry.” The words were muffled against Bail’s chest. He felt them vibrate through his ribs and into his heart, which clenched at the sound with a painful fist. “Please don’t be mad.”

Bail hugged his daughter closer still, before pushing her away just enough to tuck a hand under her chin and turn her face up to his. “Why do you think I should be mad at you?” Bail asked.

Leia sniffed and blinked tears from her eyes. “Cause.” She sniffed again. “Cause…‘cause I did something bad.”

“What did you do that was bad?”

“I don’t _know_.” And suddenly Leia’s tears redoubled, her small shoulders shaking with the fury of her sobs, her breath coming in hiccupping gasps. She lifted a hand and wiped her nose on her knuckles, then tried to stem her tears by smearing them across her cheeks with her palms. All she accomplished was making her face even more of a mess.

She stood there, a shivering, weeping girl that at once looked three and ten, backlit by the failing morning sunlight creeping in through her windows, small and vulnerable and afraid of something she did not understand, only felt.

“Shhh,” Bail crooned, once more gathering Leia into his arms. She resisted him for half a second, her body stiff in his arms—and then she melted into his embrace again, a choked, drowned, “Papá,” shuddering into his chest.

He stood, lifting her with him, and Leia wrapped her arms tight around his neck before once more burying her face in his shoulder. Bail pressed another kiss to the side of her head and ignored the tears and snot staining his robes. “It’s okay,” he said for a third time. “We’ll wait to talk until you have a chance to calm down.”

It took nearly a quarter of an hour for Leia to tire herself. Bail held her the entire time, walking with her around her bedroom with her on his hip, humming softly, and standing in silence by turns. Leia clung to him, and long before she had quieted, Bail’s shirt had been soaked through.

At last, though, her sobs trickled into sniffles, and then her sniffles into silence. She kept her face buried in the crook of Bail’s neck, however, and gave no indication that she wanted down, like she usually did after having been held for more than five or ten minutes. On any other day, Bail would have been thrilled that she wanted to stay in his arms; today, all he wanted was to feel the squirm that would tell him that his daughter was all right.

Bail carried her to her bed, then sat down at the edge of the mattress. The waning light of the late autumn morning slanted in through the windows lining the wall above her bed, painting the white rug on the floor with an eerie glow, and throwing the rich, red wood of her furniture into a low, near-burning glow.

“Now,” Bail said, perching Leia on his lap, “can you tell me what happened?”

Leia was quiet for a few seconds, unnaturally still as she sat and stared at his chest. “I dunno,” she said at last, still looking straight ahead. She sniffed, and her fingers, tangled in the front of his robe, tightened.

Bail waited, patient.

"I was kicking my ball down the hall,” Leia said after another moment, her voice very small. “I know I’m not supposed to kick it inside and I’m sorry,” she added, her words jumbled together in her rush to get them all out.

Again Bail was silent—the time for chastisement would come, but right now he wanted her to finish telling him what had happened. He doubted that she would be keen on completing the story if he reprimanded her now. He waited, watching Leia looking resolutely at his chest.

When Leia realized that her father wasn’t going to punish her for her confession—at least not yet—she continued. “I kicked the ball and it hit the wall and then it looked like it was going to hit a window.” She blushed and fidgeted uncomfortably. “I stopped it. But Caral saw it and screamed. I tried to say sorry, but she ran away.”

The hurt was obvious in Leia’s voice, and she sniffed again as she finished. There was confusion there, too, Bail thought—a quiet note of betrayal that Leia had never experienced before. She was not used to people being afraid of her. Quite the opposite, in fact; the palace loved her, staff and courtiers alike, with very few exceptions.

Leia looked up at him. In a very small, teary voice, she asked, “Why’d she run away from me, Papá? Why’d she scream?”

A hopeful rush of relief threaded through Bail’s chest, tasting warm and coppery in his mouth. From the way Leia was talking, it did not seem that she had realized just how she had stopped the ball from smashing through the window.

Bail reached up to take Leia’s hands, gently pulling them free of his shirt. “I think you surprised her,” he said, smoothing her fingers out of their tight fists.

Leia looked puzzled, thoughtful, and as if without noticing what he was doing, allowed Bail to place her sticky palms on his. It was a comfortable tradition that he had started with her when she was barely old enough to talk—when they would talk about something important, they would sit and face each other, and Bail would rest Leia’s hands on top of his. It was a calming technique, and served as an anchor, with the hope that it would help teach Leia how to calm and ground herself when discussing difficult topics.

Ahsoka had been the one to recommend the technique.

“But why?” Leia asked at last. She looked up at Bail with wide, dark eyes, and sniffed.

"She wasn’t expecting to see her princess playing with a ball in the hall, for one thing,” Bail said, and gave Leia a stern look. Now that she had finished telling her story, he was comfortable with reminding her of her transgression, and of informing her that there would be a consequence. “Speaking of which, your mother and I will have to speak about that, and what will be an appropriate consequence. You know the rule.”

Leia ducked her head, but nodded. “’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“And we forgive you.” Bail squeezed his fingers around her palms gently in a silent reassurance. “But the rule still stands.”

Leia nodded again. She was silent for a few seconds, then said, “But I don’t think she should’ve been so surprised. The ball didn’t hit the window.”

“Maybe not,” Bail said. “But you aren’t her.”

“I should apologize to her too, shouldn’t I?”

Bail felt a swell of pride blossom in his chest. “I think that would be a wonderful thing for you to do,” he said. “And I think Caral would appreciate that.”

 _Though I will have to have a few words with her before that,_ Bail thought.

It seemed that Leia had not realized what exactly had happened—a fact for which Bail was both thankful and relieved. According to Seltha, Caral had seen the ball had been hovering a few inches from the window when she came around the corner. Leia had snatched it out of the air a brief second later—but it had definitely been hovering. Of that, Caral had been adamant.

Thus far, only he and Breha had borne witness to Leia’s outbursts of Force sensitivity. They had feared, though, that it was only a matter of time until someone else saw something that they shouldn’t—a fear which, it turned out, was very valid. At least Caral had had the good sense to go to Seltha first with her strange tale.

_But if Caral hadn’t gone to Seltha right away. If Seltha hadn’t come to me when she did. If Caral had told someone else…_

The datapad beneath his fingers chirped, dragging Bail out of his dark thoughts.

Bail glanced down at the screen. It lit up, displaying a _New Message_ icon. Bail felt his stomach lurch, then tighten. There were very few people who would send a message to him on his personal datapad at this time of night.

With a deft flick of his fingers, Bail unlocked the datapad, then brought up the new message.

It was simple, succinct. Three words glared at him from the screen, shimmering a barely discernible purple-blue against the black background. _Meet me tonight_ , it read, and was signed only with _AT_.

Bail read it twice, and then the message wavered, blurred, and disintegrated into a cascade of pixels that disappeared off the bottom edge of the screen. Three seconds later it was gone, all trace of the message’s presence wiped clean.

A sigh of breath escaped Bail’s lips.

He had not expected to receive an answer so quickly.

Bail checked his chrono, then stood. It was late already—nearly midnight—and if he was to make it to their meeting place and back before sunrise, he was going to have to move quickly. He glanced once around his office, taking in the view out of his window, the datapads and flimsies scattered across his desk, the neat arrangement of the couch and chairs in front of the empty fireplace on the far side of the room. Then he strode out of the room.

He had much to do, and little time to do it.

Malothar Morieen, Captain of Alderaan’s Honor Guard, lived with his wife, Aidréna, Lady of Morieer, in a comfortable suite high in the palace’s west wing. The couple spent most of their time at the Royal Palace, as Aidréna was not only a close friend but also a counselor to the Queen, though every spring and autumn Aidréna would return to Morieer to oversee the season’s festivals.

Malothar and Bail, while not old friends, were dear friends, and of everyone in the galaxy, there were few Bail trusted more. When Bail had been announced as Breha’s fiancé and Alderaan’s Prince-to-be, in the devastating wake of the civil war that had wracked Alderaan’s peace for five brutal years, Malothar, then only just appointed to the Honor Guard—twenty of Alderaan’s finest warriors, who trained from age twelve to twenty-two, and who were sworn to defend the royal family’s life and honor with their last breath—had been one of the first to accept Bail as part of the court.

Bail walked to their apartment in silence, tense and anxious. The few members of the palace staff he encountered nodded or bowed in respect, but Bail hardly saw them. The moon shone high and bright through the many vaulted windows he passed, a constant reminder of the narrow window of time against which he raced.

It took two chimes of the bell outside Malothar and Aidréna’s apartment to open the door. When at last it slid open, revealing a disheveled and bleary-eyed Malothar, it was all Bail could do not to snap at him for taking so long. Malothar looked tired, with his dark skin washed silver by the moonlight pooling around his head, bleaching his frosted gold hair with a pale halo; his amber eyes were dark and filled with the fog of sleep, swallowed by the bruise-colored shadows beneath them.

Instead Bail took a deep breath, and in the calm and even tone he was so well-known for in the Senate, said simply, “Get dressed. We have a meeting with an old friend.”

The exhaustion drained from Malothar’s face. “I was unaware we had a meeting,” he said, any confusion and suspicion he may have felt well-hidden.

“Neither was I,” Bail said simply. “Now hurry.”

“As you say. I will meet you in the garage in a quarter hour.”

Next Bail turned his steps toward his own apartment, just down the long hall. The shadows lay thick in the sitting room as the front door opened at Bail’s touch. He moved with sure steps around the furniture, and with less sure steps through Leia’s toys littered across the floor in front of the fireplace, then slid, as silent as he could so as not to wake his family, into his and Breha’s room.

She was asleep.

Loath to wake her, Bail sat gingerly on the edge of the mattress, and for a long, precious moment, simply looked at her. She looked peaceful, the lines of stress he was so accustomed to seeing etched around her eyes and mouth smoothed out by sleep. Her hair was loose, and it tumbled around her shoulders in a tangled curtain, dark against the white blankets draped over her chest, against her skin, paler in the night than ever in day.

She was beautiful, Bail thought.

Bail lay a hand on her shoulder, and called her to wakefulness.

She was alert in seconds, sitting up and reaching for him with one hand, then turning to flip on the bedside lamp with the other. The lines around her eyes and mouth reappeared with the light as if they had never been gone. “What is it?” she asked, gripping Bail’s nearest hand in hers. There was no trace of sleepiness in her voice, though she had been deep in dreams mere seconds before.

“She replied to my message,” Bail said.  There was no need to clarify who the “she” he spoke of was.

“So soon?” Breha asked.

“Yes. She must have already been close.”

Breha nodded, slow and steady, but Bail could tell that she was uncertain or uneasy. Her fingers tightened around his. “You are going to meet her?”

“Yes,” Bail said again. “I’m taking Malothar.”

“Good.”

Even though he was on his own planet, Bail dared not leave the palace without protection. Too many times, especially in the last five years, had someone tried to kill him—or at least to do him harm. Bail was under no pretenses as to why the number of assassination attempts had suddenly spiked after the Clone Wars had come to an end; Palpatine did not yet trust him, and no matter how well Bail played the part of a subservient agent of the Empire, he suspected Palpatine never would.

“Be careful, Bail,” Breha said. Her voice was soft, a whisper almost lost to the silence of the night that huddled close to the pool of light cast by the lamp, and she looked at him, long and hard.

“Of course, my queen.” Bail quirked a smile at her, an attempted reassurance, and then leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be home by sunrise.”

“You had better be,” Breha said, not quite half under her breath, and arched one slender eyebrow at him.

In spite of himself, Bail was forced to swallow back a low laugh. Breha always did know how to make him feel better, lighter, even if only for a moment.

Bail rose and crossed to the large closet. It was deeper than it was wide, hung on one side with Breha’s clothes, the other with his. Drawers, stacked and lined with watches, necklaces, rings, cufflinks, circlets, and a dozen and more kinds of jewelry that Bail hardly knew what they were for, rose in even intervals along the walls; shelves holding a hundred and more pairs of shoes sat along the floor beneath the hanging clothes. A second door, set into the right-hand wall near the back of the closet, led into his and Breha’s shared bathroom. A third door led into a small corridor, which in turn led out to the sitting room; it was through this door that the palace staff usually entered.

Though it had been many years since Bail had married Breha, and had left behind him the life of the youngest son of a minor noble family, he was still sometimes struck by the sheer wealth and magnificence held by this one small room. This was one of those moments.

 _Gods_ , he thought, unsure if he was praying or cursing, _the clothing alone is worth enough to feed, clothe, and hide two people for ten years._

He quickly silenced that thought, cutting its thread before it could spiral into a tapestry of panic. _That won’t be necessary,_ he told himself. _Not yet._

_Hopefully not ever._

Bail dressed quickly after that. He discarded his court finery for simple tunic and pants, both dark and unadorned, and pulled on thick socks and boots. Shrugging on a heavy winter coat, he stepped out of the closet and switched off the light, plunging the bedroom back into murky half-shadows lit only by Breha’s bedside lamp.

“Be safe.”

Bail turned at the door, one hand falling to rest on the frame, and looked at his wife. She smiled at him—a thin, wan expression that did not touch her eyes—and then blew him a kiss.

“I love you,” Bail said.

“I love you too.”

The walk to the garage passed in a half-dazed blur for Bail. His heart and thoughts lingered in the room with Breha, with his precious Leia asleep in her bed. He had stopped at her door on his way out of the apartment, opening it just enough that he could glimpse her, a blanket-shrouded mound of shadows at the center of her bed. Though he knew his time was running short, that Malothar was likely already waiting for him, he could not help but pause for long enough to murmur a quick, silent prayer to the Mother for his daughter’s safety and protection.

As he had suspected, Malothar was already waiting by a nondescript speeder when Bail arrived. The garage was cold, despite the large, yellow lights beaming down from the permacrete ceiling, filling the cavernous room lined with vehicles with a warm glow, and Bail was glad to climb into the warm speeder Malothar already had running.

“Ready, my lord?” Malothar asked, looking over as Bail closed the door.

“Yes,” Bail said, settling back into the seat and fastening his safety belt. “Let’s go.”

They sped through the near-empty streets of Aldera in silence. Bail watched the city lights flash past the window in tense silence, unaware that his hands were as tightly clenched as Malothar’s around the steering controls. The tense pit in his stomach gnawed uneasily at his bones, and his thoughts were as tangled as they were torn between his family behind him, and the meeting ahead. Breha’s look of uncertainty seemed to echo in his mind’s eye, until it harmonized with his own sense of trepidation.

 Malothar took them nearly around the city’s entire perimeter before directing their vehicle onto the broad, multi-laned road that would take them through the Southern Gate, and out of the ancient volcano that sheltered Aldera from the harsh mountain weather. It was only as the wide tunnel, chiseled through the solid rock of the volcano’s wall and lined with soft lights, yawned before them, Aldera’s glittering skyline fading away behind and beneath them, that Malothar broke the silence.

“Will you tell me now what is going on?” he asked, flicking a quick glance over at Bail seated beside him.

His voice was softer than it had been, his address more informal than in the garage or the hallway. Bail relaxed slightly, glad to hear the voice of his friend and not his Captain of the Honor Guard. Only then did he feel the tension cramping in his fingers. Purposefully forcing his hands to unclasp, Bail let out a deep, calming breath, centering his thoughts and his emotions.

“There was an…incident today,” Bail said at last, choosing his words carefully. Though Bail trusted Malothar implicitly—more than he trusted almost anyone in the galaxy, in fact—Malothar did not know Leia’s true identity; only Breha and Ahsoka—and Obi-Wan and Yoda, who had been present for her birth—were privy to that information. And, while Malothar was aware that Bail and Breha suspected that Leia was Force-sensitive, he had no proof, and had no inkling of the degree to which the Force was with her.

“An incident?” Malothar repeated, risking another quick glance over at Bail. “What type of incident?”

Bail shook his head, trusting that Malothar would glimpse the movement from his peripheral vision. The lights on either side of the tunnel lit the inside of the speeder with quick flashes of rich gold, throwing both of their movements into sharp relief against the shadows. “I think it would be best,” Bail said, staring resolutely ahead toward the pinpoint of darkness that was the end of the Southern Gate, “that you not know the details.”

Malothar was silent for a long second, and Bail knew that his words had stung his friend. “As you wish,” Malothar said, and his voice slid a fraction of an inch back into the chilly officiousness of his rank. But then he sighed, and as the speeder slid out of the tunnel and into the snow-swept world beyond Aldera, where the moon and stars shone as bright as the lights they had left behind them, he said, “I am sorry, my old friend. I should not begrudge you the secrets you keep from me.”

Bail smiled up at the stars. “Those are few and far between, my friend.” His smile dimmed, and grew grim. “And I wish I could share this one with you as well.”

After that they settled into a companionable silence, lulled by the steady thrum of the speeder and eased by the winter’s mountain beauty around them. The miles slid past quickly, swallowed by snow and ice and bright moonlight.

The road Malothar took wound high into the mountains, passing cliff faces cracked by winter storms, and climbing through shivering cios-tree forests, whose blue-black needles shivered in the night wind. Twice, over the hum of the speeder’s engine, Bail thought that he could hear the ululating cry of a mountain cat.

The Mariner’s Star had just lifted his alabaster head above the horizon when Malothar abruptly slowed the speeder, then pulled off of the main road and onto a narrow dirt track cleft into a cliff. Darkness swallowed them, the only illumination the faintest shadows of silver starlight that filtered through the cios-trees’ thick branches and the yellow glow of the speeder’s headlights. The headlights danced over the ravine walls to either side, showing pits and cracks and thick, twisting cios-tree roots, as Malothar spun the speeder first left, then right around sharp and sharper turns, taking them deeper and deeper still into the heart of the mountain.

And then, as suddenly as they had entered the ravine, they were free of it. A small valley spread out before them, nestled between three towering peaks, filled with a thick cios-tree forest and the glint of moonlight off of water. The stars shone brilliantly above, and the purple-and-cream arms of the galaxy spun in full view overhead.

It took another five minutes for the speeder to reach the valley floor, and another ten to reach the river that crawled into the waterfall for which the valley was named. And there, sitting well-hidden amid the trees that overlooked the roaring fall, was Bail’s destination.

The house was small but finely built, with two stories, a porch that wrapped around two sides, and a shingled roof. The upstairs windows were shuttered tight against the night, but from the window that peeked out over the small garden, there came the faint, ruddy glow of firelight.

Bail looked over at Malothar as he drew the speeder to a halt at the end of the drive. “Wait here,” Bail said. His voice was surprisingly tight, and the words seemed to stick in his throat like mud. “I shouldn’t be long.”

Malothar threw the speeder into park, and nodded. “As you wish, my lord,” he said. “I’ll keep her running.”

Bail nodded in return and, unclipping his safety belt, threw open his door and stepped out into the mountain night.

It was colder here than it had been in Aldera. The wind keened as it tore through the cios-trees, lifting the collar of Bail’s coat and tugging at his hair as he started down the dirt drive. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and put his head down against the wind. The toes of his boots, he found, were decidedly more interesting than watching the house draw nearer with every step.

All too soon, however, he was at the porch steps. He took them quickly, hesitated, then lifted his hand to the front door and knocked.

There came the muffled sounds of footsteps. Then the lock on the door clicked, and beneath that the faint hiss of the security system powering down—and then the door opened, releasing a flood of warm, yellow light out onto the porch.

“You came.”

Bail looked up, took in the back-lit figure standing in the doorway. She was as tall as ever.

“Of course I came,” Bail said stiffly in reply. “What else did you expect me to do, Ahsoka?”

Ahsoka stiffened at her name, as Bail had known she would. Bail suspected that, out of everyone she now knew, he was the only one to know who she had been before she had taken on the title of Fulcrum. He also suspected that she did not like to be reminded of what she had lost.

But now, feeling testy and on edge, with his daughter’s fate hanging by a thread, Bail felt it only appropriate that Ahsoka be reminded, in as blunt or sharp a term as necessary, just what it was they stood to lose—just what this meeting meant: everything, both past and future.

“I suppose you should come in, then,” Ahsoka said. She remained standing in the doorway for another second, though, before she stood back to allow Bail to slide past her and into the front hall. She turned and closed the door behind him.

“You seem upset,” Ahsoka said, following him down the long hall and into the sitting room.

A fire blazed in the hearth, filling the cozy, low-ceilinged room with crackling warmth and golden light. The same golden light, Bail realized, that he had seen from the end of the drive. He unbuttoned his coat and, upon pulling it off, draped it over the back of the nearest armchair. Another armchair, in the same burgundy, sat opposite him beside the hearth, while a long, cream sofa sat cock-eyed facing the fire. The cabinet above the fireplace hung half-open, revealing a sliver of a viewscreen, on which Bail thought he glimpsed the _Aldera News_.

Bail sat on the nearest end of the sofa, folding his hands on top of his lap as he settled back. Ahsoka claimed the armchair by the fire, but as she settled she seemed anything but the relaxed she tried to feign. She perched on the edge of the cushion, like a thranta ready to leap into flight, her own hands clasped too-tightly together.

A sigh pulled free of Bail’s lips. “We’re too old of friends for this,” he said. He forced his shoulders to relax, his posture to loosen.

Ahsoka cocked an arched eyebrow at him. “What do you mean?”

“This banter of barbed and subtly poisoned words,” Bail said. He shook his head. “I count you as a friend, Ahsoka, in a world where true friends are rare.” Ahsoka ducked her head. “I don’t want to sour our friendship.”

“I’m afraid,” Ahsoka said, speaking to the carpet, “tonight may sour it regardless.”

Bail frowned. “What does that mean?” he asked.

But Ahsoka shook her head, and with a tightening of her shoulders, she looked up. “No,” she said. “First tell me why you contacted me this morning. Your message didn’t say much.”

“It’s Leia,” Bail said. He grimaced. “She accidentally used the Force this morning, and in front of a servant. I do not believe Leia realized it was anything out of the ordinary—but the servant did. And Ahsoka, she’s getting stronger. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be able to keep her hidden from the Empire.”

Ahsoka’s expression, which she had kept carefully neutral while Bail spoke, darkened at last. “I see,” she said. “This is…troubling.”

Bail nodded. “I thought that perhaps it was time that—”

“No,” Ahsoka said with a shake of her head. “I know what you were about to say, Bail, and no. I don’t think it would be wise to remove Leia from her home—from you and Breha. I can teach her a few things, to keep her powers channeled and contained in a way that shouldn’t arouse suspicion. But no one can do for her what you and Breha are doing: giving her a family, and a childhood—and a good one, at that.” Her voice grew suddenly soft, wistful. “It’s something that I never had. Something that—” She seemed to choke, as if the words were lodging in her throat. “—that Anakin never had. And I can’t help but wonder how things might have been different, if…if he at least had been somewhere stable, rather than being pulled from one side of the galaxy to the other. If he’d had a chance to be a child. To grow up right.”

She took a deep breath, and shook her head. “But enough of ‘what-ifs’,” she declared. “We aren’t here to reminisce and ponder the past, but to look to the future.”

Bail nodded. “You said you can teach her some things?”

“Yes. They’ll be small things—things that were taught to the younglings as soon as they were able to walk. Things to focus the mind, and to channel the energy and keep it from exploding unwarranted.”

“And they won’t be noticeable?” Bail asked.

Ahsoka hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she confessed. “Normally they would be, if the person looking was trained in the Force.”

“But?” Bail prompted, when Ahsoka hesitated again.

“But it took me three years to even realize that Leia was Force-sensitive. And given her strength, I should have been able to tell as soon as look at her. And even knowing that she’s Force-sensitive, there are even times that she all but slips under my radar.”

Bail frowned. “Why haven’t you said anything about that before?”

“It didn’t seem necessary at the time,” Ahsoka said. She did, however, sound apologetic. “And I thought that her seeming natural ability to shield may keep her from being noticeable at all. I had hoped, at least…” She trailed off into silence, looking at Bail, waiting.

Bail, for his part, could only nod. “I see,” he said. And he did, whether he liked Ahsoka’s withholding information or not. “But please,” he said, and fastened her with the hard and demanding look he had learned from Breha even before their wedding, “when it comes to my daughter, I would appreciate you telling me all that you know.”

“I will,” Ahsoka promised.

“And on that note,” she said, and straightened further in her chair. She seemed hardly to even sit, now, so close to the edge was she. “I have something for you.”

“Something for me?” Bail echoed. Then he nodded. “I assumed you had some other business here. Unless you were already on Alderaan, or close to Alderaan, you wouldn’t have been able to see me so quickly.”

“You’re not going to like it, Bail,” Ahsoka warned. Her voice was suddenly quiet, and deadly serious.

Bail frowned. “What do you mean?” he asked. The uncertainty, the worry that had been lulled during his conversation with Ahsoka, suddenly flared to life once more. Every dark thought of what might have brought her here to Alderaan, to the heart of the Empire without even notifying him prior to her journey, came flooding back, now buoyed by her warning. “What have you brought me, Ahsoka?”

She stood. The movement was quick, fluid, jarring in its smoothnes. It was one of the moments that struck Bail, with the weight of iron, that this woman sitting across from him was imbued with the Force, and was a little more than he, or Breha, or any sentient but the few gifted—or cursed—by the Force, could ever be.

Deftly, Ahsoka reached into the pouch that hung, hidden by her draping robe, on her belt. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding a small, dark vial. For a fraction of a moment she held it tightly by her side, her hand and arm and entire body bone still around the vial—and then she extended her hand, and held the vial out to Bail.

He stood. “What is this?” he asked, reaching out and taking it from the palm of Ahsoka’s hand. His fingers closed easily around it, and he found that the vial was as cold as night, and just as slick.

“Poison,” Ahsoka said.

Bail’s fingers tightened reflexively around the vial, opposing his urge to drop and kick the thing away from him. And then the true meaning of Ahsoka’s words slammed into him, and Bail’s head shot up.

“Who is it for?” he asked, voice almost a growl.

“Leia.”

Ahsoka’s voice was blunt, a club to the peaceful crackle and snap of the fire in the hearth, the low hum of the muted viewscreen in its cabinet. The name hung heavy in the air, sinking slowly where it hung between them.

“Leia?” Bail echoed. His fingers turned white around the vial. “What do you mean,” he asked, voice as deadly calm and deadly warning as Ahsoka’s was blunt, “by giving this to me?”

Ahsoka took a deep breath. “Please understand, Bail,” she said, “I do not give this to you with the intent that you kill your own daughter. Quite the opposite.”

“Explain.”

“I found reference to it in one of the books in the Jedi Archive.”

Bail’s eyebrows soared. “The _Jedi Archive_?” he all but hissed. “Ahsoka, do you mean—”

“Yes,” Ahsoka snapped. “I went to the Temple. It was worth it.”

“Worth it? Ahsoka, you could have been killed. Or captured!”

“I know the risks, Bail,” Ahsoka said. Her eyes flashed. “But what I found was _worth it._ ”

Bail looked down at the vial in his hands. From the periphery of his vision, he saw Ahsoka nod.

“Yes,” she said. “I found that. Or, rather, enough to set me on the right path.”

“And what,” Bail asked, “is this, exactly?”

“It’s an old Sith poison,” Ahsoka said. “It attacks the midichlorians in a person’s body. For most sentients, it’s completely harmless. To someone strong in the Force, however, it is in small doses incredibly painful, and in large enough dose lethal.”

Bail looked up at Ahsoka, eyes hard. “So why do you give it to me for my daughter?”

“Because, with the right dose, this poison kills just enough midichlorians to make the person who ingested it seem like a normal, Force-blind sentient, but not too many that the midichlorians can’t regenerate.”

“So what you’re saying,” Bail said slowly, “is that, with this, I can make Leia seem like a normal little girl.”

Ahsoka nodded. “Yes,” she said, “but at a cost. It will make her incredibly sick, and will only have the full effect for less than an hour. After her body metabolizes it out—which it metabolizes very quickly—her midichlorian count will begin to rise once more.”

“So it’s a short-term masquerade.”

“It’s a last resort.”

Bail looked again down at the vial in his hand. It was still cold against his skin, the plastiglass of the container slick against his fingers. His heart shuddered against his ribs, climbed into his throat. Horror at what it was he held in his hand crept under his skin, sidled along the fine bones of his wrist and up his arm and into his chest.

How could he even think of poisoning his child? His sweet Leia, who laughed and danced and had only that evening at dinner told him and Breha that she wanted to make the whole world a happy place. How could he even think of poisoning her?

Then he thought of Palpatine. Of Vader. Of the crimson flags that hung in the Senate hall, that flew above the Alderaanian flag on the palace spire. Of the shadowy figures of the Inquisitors that stalked the Imperial Palace corridors; of the rumors whispered in the underbelly of the galaxy, and the reports coming in from his own spies, that spoke of thousands murdered by red blades and necks broken without a touch.

He thought of yellow eyes—of _her_ eyes, so dark and bright and beautiful, bleeding to a sickly, rotten yellow.

He looked up and met Ahsoka’s gaze.

“What will I need to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 will be uploaded the last week of July.
> 
> Please don't hesitate to leave a comment; I could love to hear your thoughts.


	2. Part 1: Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost six months since I said I was going to update. I'm so, so sorry. I haven't abandoned this work, though - and it's my main project at the moment. So it shouldn't be another six months before I update again.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**PART 1: POISON**

_“Then I was cast from out my state;_  
_Two fiends of darkness led my way;_  
_They waked me early, watched me late,_  
_My dread by night, my plague by day!_  
_Oh! I was made their sport, their play,_  
_Through many a stormy troubled year;_  
_And how they used their passive prey_  
_Is sad to tell:—but you shall hear.”_  
_~Frenzy, by George Crabbe_

 

* * *

 

 

CHAPTER 1

The Winter Solstice Ball was held in the Imperial Palace’s grandest hall. Fifty pillars marched on either side along its full length, supporting twin balconies that overlooked the white marble dance floor. Ten chandeliers, wrought with diamond and white gold, lit the hall with pale light, leaving the area beneath the balconies shrouded in darkness broken only by soft gold light from sconces affixed to the walls. Tables, laden with food and drink, sat end-to-end on the far end of the hall.

To Leia Organa, though, Crown Princess of Alderaan, it was the people who caught her gaze.

There were hundreds of sentients in the hall, all garbed in the finest cloths spun by working hands and adorned with the pricest jewels and gems found throughout the galaxy. There were as many colors as people: deep violets, rich maroons, brilliant blues, vibrant oranges, and more colors besides, many of which Leia had no name for. The air glittered with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and was filled with the twittering rumble of talk and laughter.

“There are so many people, Papá,” Leia said, craning her head up to look at her father.

Bail Organa, Senator and Viceroy of Alderaan, was darkly handsome in rich blue velvet and slick black. He wore a loose robe over form-fitting tunic and pants trimmed in blue thread, and knee-high boots. He was a stark contrast to Leia’s spring blue gown, the double skirts that hung around her knees as delicate as spider silk. On his brow he wore a silver circlet studded with flecks of diamond and sapphire.

Leaning down, Leia’s father scooped her up into his arms. She grinned in delight, and flung her arms around his neck as he settled her onto his hip, turning so that she could survey the room again at her new vantage point.

“What do you think now?” he asked, pulling back so he could meet Leia’s gaze.

“I still think there are a lot of people,” Leia said matter-of-factly.

Her father laughed. “That there are,” he said. He hugged her tightly. “But you don’t have to be afraid. I’ll be with you the whole time.”

“I’m not afraid,” Leia retorted, indignant. “There are just--”

“A lot of people,” her father finished. He leaned in and kissed Leia on the cheek, then swung her back down to the floor. “Well, my little princess,” he said, kneeling, “would you be so kind as to give me your first dance?”

Leia giggled, but nodded, and allowed her father to lead her out onto the dance floor. The streaked white marble was bright against Leia’s blue slippers, and she pulled away from her father enough to walk along one of golden whorls.

The band, arrayed on the left-hand balcony, struck up a bouncing waltz. Leia’s father took her hands in his, and stuck out his right foot. “Shall we?” he asked.

Leia, smiling broadly now, stepped up onto her father’s toes. Holding each other’s hands tightly between them, the two of them began to dance, weaving in and out of fine courtiers and sharply-dressed Imperial officers stepping smartly to the music.

When the dance was finished, Leia’s father led her off of the dance floor and toward the food tables. He stopped at the drinks, and held up two fingers at the servant standing in attendance at the punch bowl. The servant, dressed in black embroidered with the Empire’s insignia on the breast and lapel, ladled out the pale pink punch into two crystal glasses.

“Hold it with both hands,” her father instructed Leia, handing her the first of the glasses.

Leia took a sip, and then looked up at her father in surprise. “This is good!” she said, and took another, larger drink. “Almost as good as the punch at home.”

Her father smiled. “The Emperor has some of the best chefs and cooks in the galaxy.” He winked at her. “Of course the punch is good.”

With one hand on Leia’s shoulder, he ushered her away from the drink table and toward a relatively empty space beneath the nearest balcony. The shadows opened and embraced them, the soft light throwing the angles of their faces into sharp lines and edges. Chairs and low-slung sofas sat along the walls, many of which were occupied by formless shapes hidden by the dim darkness.

Leia and her father stood silently for a moment, drinking their punch. Leia thought about the court finery, and about dancing, and about the palace. It had, when she first saw it, scared her--though she was loath to admit that fact, even to herself. The hulking shape of it, with its thousand spires reaching toward the starlit night sky, had been imposing and shocking. She had never seen the Imperial Palace before, and it had seemed to her that it was a beast waiting to open its sharp-toothed mouth and swallow her whole.

“I don’t like this place,” Leia had said, tugging on her father’s hand to stop him. They had been walking down the cobblestone walkway, which lead from the roundabout where their driver had dropped them off, to the double doors leading into the Palace.

Her father had knelt beside her, signalling for Rebécca and Calthon, the two Honor Guards that had accompanied them to Coruscant, to halt as well.

“What about it don’t you like?” her father had asked.

Leia’s gaze had slid past him back to the palace, stretching high and higher behind him. She had shivered then, an unpleasant feeling crawling from the pit of her stomach into her mouth. It tasted like ash and copper.

“I don’t know,” Leia had said. “I just don’t like it. I...I have a funny feeling.”

A strange look had flickered in her father’s eyes at that. Leia, in tune with her father’s moods since before she could walk, looked at her father with mounting discomfort. “Papá?” she had asked. “Do we have to go?”

“I thought you were excited about going to the ball,” her father had said.

“I was,” Leia had said. “I am. I just....I have a funny feeling,” she had said again.

Leaning forward, her father had placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “It will be okay,” he had promised her. “Rebécca and Calthon will take good care of us.”

Once more looking up at the palace, black and sharp against the sky, Leia had nodded. “Okay,” she had said. She trusted her father above all else.

Thinking back on it now--about the spires like teeth, and the hulking shadow of the many towers, and the blackness of the walls--Leia shivered again. The funny feeling in her stomach churned, and Leia looked around, searching the people close to them for...something.

“Are you okay, Lelila?” her father asked.

“I just…” Leia trailed off, then huffed in annoyance. She couldn’t explain the taste in her mouth, or the strange churning in her belly. All she knew was that she was looking for _something_.

There was movement behind her, and Leia whirled, heart pounding in her throat. But it was only Rebécca, dressed in her ceremonial armor, appearing between two courtiers in flowing gowns of yellow and chartreuse. Her face was stamped with a frown, but when she saw Leia looking at her it smoothed out into a reassuring smile. The hand gripping the hilt of her ceremonial sword, however, did not loosen.

“I beg your pardon, princesita,” she said, looking at Leia, “but I need to speak with your father. My lord?” she said then, looking up at Leia’s father and canting her head to one side. “If I may?”

“I’ll only be a moment,” her father promised Leia. Leia nodded, and her father motioned for Rebécca to lead the way.

Leia sipped at her punch, and watched the two nearby courtiers. They had drawn closer together, and were now standing with their heads huddled together. Leia wondered what they were gossipping about.

“Leia?” It was her father.

“Yes, Papá?” Leia asked, turning and looking up at him.

“I have to go talk to a few people,” he said. He looked grim, and Leia could feel the sudden tension radiating off of him in waves.

“Are you okay?” Leia asked, suddenly concerned.

Her father smiled. “Everything’s fine,” he promised. “Something has just come up, and I need to talk to Aunt Mon.”

Leia brightened. She loved Mon Mothma. When she was four, she had taken to calling her “Aunt Mon,” and the name had stuck.

“Can I come with?” Leia asked.

Her father shook his head. “Not this time, Lelila,” he said. “Though maybe you can go say hello to her later.”

Leia deflated, but nodded. “Okay,” she said.

“Rebécca will stay with you,” her father said.

Leia’s smile returned. “Okay,” she said again, happier. Rebécca, like all the Honor Guard, called Leia “mi princesita”--“my princess”--, and had snuck her treats and carried her around the palace on their backs and shoulders. Rebécca had also helped Leia prank some of the court children. Leia adored her.

Her father straightened, leaned in to whisper something to Rebécca, and then, with one final smile at Leia, turned and disappeared into the crowd.

“What do you think of the ball, mi princesita?” Rebécca asked, kneeling down so she was on Leia’s level.

“There are a lot of people,” Leia said. “But I like it. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Rebécca asked.

Leia shifted where she stood, feeling the soft, willowy cloth of her dress whisper around her knees. She gripped the punch glass tightly in her hands, and wondered if she should tell Rebécca about the funny feeling.

“Princesita?” Rebécca asked.

“I feel funny,” Leia said finally, her voice barely audible over the music and murmur of the crowd.

“Funny how?” Rebécca asked. “Are you sick?”

Leia shook her head. “No,” she said. “I feel like… I feel like somebody's watching me. Or is looking for me.”

Rebécca frowned. “Is this person good?”

Leia shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “My tummy feels unhappy. And I feel...I feel yellow.”

“Yellow?” Rebécca asked. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Leia said helplessly. “It’s just, when I think about the feeling, I see yellow.”

Rebécca frowned. Then she held out her hand. “I think maybe we should get you some food. Something to nibble on, at least. That may help your stomach.”

Leia pondered whether to give Rebécca her hand--she was nine after all, and big enough to walk on her own. But then Leia felt again the yellow, and tasted the ash and copper in her mouth, and she decided that she wanted to feel Rebécca’s safety. She put the punch glass she held in Rebécca’s outstretched hand, then reached for Rebécca’s other hand. Rebécca smiled.

“Come on, mi princesita,” she said, taking Leia’s hand and standing. “Let’s go find something tasty.”

They threaded their way through the crowd toward the refreshments. When they reached the tables, Rebécca handed Leia’s now-empty punch glass off to a servant, then retrieved two small plates. She and Leia walked up and down the table, choosing delicacies at random. Leia left with a pastry filled with chocolate ganache, candied plums, and a delicate cookie that looked to have been spun of sugar; Rebécca had chosen two small quiches, one spinach and the other bacon and cheese, and a small slice of cake.

The two of them returned to their spot beneath the balcony. The two courtiers were gone, Leia noticed, their place empty for a moment, before a couple holding hands laughed their way into it.

Leia ate her cookie and two of the candied plums before asking, “Rebécca, where’s Calthon?”

“He’s looking into something for Madame Mothma,” Rebécca said. She brushed her quiche-fovered fingers, clad in a kidskin glove, off against the thick cloth of her pants.

“Oh,” Leia said, nibbling on her pastry. “Is everything okay?”

“Don’t worry, princesita,” Rebécca said, and then ate her second quiche in one bite. “Everything will be just fine.”

“Okay,” Leia said, and finished eating her pastry.

“Leia. Rebécca.”

Leia turned around to see her father standing behind them. His face was stern, and the tension that Leia had sensed in him before he left was at least doubled. A small spark of fear raced down Leia’s spine, to join the strange feeling in her stomach. The food, contrary to Rebécca’s predictions, had done nothing to assuage it.

 “Papá?” Leia asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Come, Lelila,” her father only said. “We have to go. Now.” He reached down and took one of her hands, then pulled her towards the dance floor. Rebécca followed.

Halfway there, Leia’s father abruptly changed directions. He jerked Leia’s hand, pulled her close to him, and then all but pushed her through a tittering crowd of courtiers. The courtiers cried out in surprise and alarm, but her father ignored them.

“Papá,” Leia protested, “you’re hurting me.”

Her father loosened his grip on her hand, but he did not slow, even when he bumped into an admiral. He tugged Leia after him, forcing Leia to half run to keep up with him.

She looked over her shoulder once, searching for Rebécca. She was still following them, confusion and alarm cleanly written on her face and in the hand holding tightly to her sword hilt. She kept apace easily, however, and offered Leia a reassuring smile when she saw Leia looking at her.

They pushed their way through another group of courtiers, then skirted a tight knot of Imperial officers. Leia bumped into a young woman approaching a third group of revelers, and dropped the empty plate she held. It fell to the floor with a clatter and crash.

“Leave it,” her father ordered when Leia tried to turn around to retrieve it.

“But--”

“Leave it, Leia.” She had never heard her father sound so stern.

She obeyed.

A door set into the wall crept up upon them unexpectedly. Her father pushed Leia towards it. He glanced over his shoulder, hiding the sight of the ballroom and the guests from view, then reached for the door sensor. The door opened silently, and Leia’s father pushed her through it and out into the narrow servant’s corridor beyond.

“Papá,” Leia whined, trying to slow down. “What’s going on?”

Her father turned and came back. Instead of kneeling in front of her, though, or even pausing to speak, her lifted her up into his arms and settled her on his hip.

“Not now, Leia,” he said. “Right now we have to leave.”

“But why?” Leia asked.

“Hush, Leia,” her father said. “I’ll explain everything later.”

The servant’s corridor ended in a short flight of stairs and a door. At a signal from her father, Rebécca hurried forward and opened it before them, stepping into the room on the other side, sword half-drawn from its sheath. Leia’s father paused at the top of the steps, waiting, until Rebécca turned and gave the signal for _all clear_. Only then did her father descend the steps.

Leia looked back over her father’s shoulder as they passed through the door. The top of the steps was shrouded with light, but as Leia looked, it seemed for a second that the light bent, stretched, and then was swallowed. Leia jumped, fingers tangling in her father’s silken over robe, and looked again. She tasted copper, and ash, and felt her stomach churn with the memory of yellow, yellow, yellow…

The door slid shut behind them, and the sensation was gone.

They were in a kitchen, long and low-ceilinged and filled with counters and stoves and cabinets. Cooks and servers, scullery maids and attendants, chefs and servants crowded the hot, humid room, filling the air with shouts and demands and the occasional burst of laughter.

A server--a short, plump young girl with black hair and dark skin--squawked in surprise when Rebécca, Leia, and her father appeared, almost dropping the tray of scones she carried. She recovered quickly, but stood there open-mouthed as Rebécca and Leia’s father hurried past her.

They garnered many such looks as they passed through the kitchen. Chefs stopped yelling, cooks stopped stirring, servers dropped what they were carrying, scullery maids ceased scrubbing. All stood shocked to see the royal family of Alderaan passing through their domain.

“Excuse me,” Leia’s father said, stopping at the far end of the kitchen and turning to a cook hovering over a pot of bubbling jam. “Can you tell us how to get to the nearby speeder hangar the fastest?”

The cook stared, then collected himself. “Yes, sir,” he said. He pointed toward a door a dozen paces away. “Go through there, and follow the hall down to the junction. Take a left, go up the stairs, and then take a right. There’s a door at the end of the hall that takes you out to the yard. Go across the yard, and you’ll be at the hangar bay.”

“My thanks,” Leia’s father said.

“Sure,” said the boy. “I mean, of course. I mean, yes, sir. I mean--”

Leia’s father stretched out a hand and placed it on the boy’s shoulder, calming him. He smiled--and then he turned and left, striding purposefully toward the door the boy had indicated.

The rest of the trip to the hangar was a blur to Leia. She watched the walls, decorated with paintings and tapestries and frescoes, run past with gathering speed. The floor disappeared beneath her father’s long, sure stride. The lights above them shed a watery light over the scene, casting wavering shadows behind them as they walked.

And then they were outside, the night sky opening above them and the clear air welcoming. There was a short lawn of close-cropped grass, and then a duracrete wall punctured by a single door.

“There,” Leia’s father said. “Come on, Rebécca.”

They hurried forward, now all but running. Leia clung tightly to her father, hands clasped together beneath his left ear, head buried in the crook of his neck. He held her tightly to him, trying to keep her from jostling too much as he moved.

Rebécca reached the door first. She ran her hand over the sensor, only for nothing to happen. She said something soft, beneath her breath, and drew her sword. Raising the hilt above her head, she brought it down with a sweeping crunch. The sensor sprayed apart, raining cracked pieces of plasti onto the grass. Wires wept sparks out of the freshly made opening, but Rebécca did not hesitate as she reached in and ripped the whole lot out.

The door opened.

Leia looked back over the lawn towards the bright lights shining from the windows of the palace. The spires still hung threateningly overhead, but suddenly, though they felt just as dark, Leia was not as afraid as before.

Now there was something else she was afraid of--something that had appeared in the doorway they had just exited, something dark, and yellow, and tasting of ash and blood.

The hangar was bright compared to the night. Yellow floodlights were mounted on the walls, casting deep shadows in the corners and brilliant pathways in between. Speeders were parked in long lines from one end of the large room to the other.

“Which way?” Rebécca asked.

“I told Balaar to meet us at the foot of the ramp to the second level.”

Rebécca nodded. “This way,” she said, and took the lead.

Their footsteps echoed from duracrete ceiling to floor, hollow and ringing, until it sounded like a dozen and more men ran with them. Leia looked around her with wide eyes, taking in the white marks painted on the floor, the signs on the columns supporting the roof, the speeders parked in their zones. She did not speak, however; her mouth tasted like blood, and she was afraid that, if she talked, the blood would pour out of it and wash her father and Rebécca away.

There came the sound of an engine thrumming, and then a speeder appeared at the bottom of the ramp they had almost reached. It pulled to a smooth stop beside them, and Balaar, the driver, opened the passenger’s door.

Without waiting for a command, Rebécca yanked open the back door. Leia’s father swung her down, off his hip, and ushered her into the speeder, following close behind. Rebécca closed the door behind him, then climbed into the waiting passenger’s seat.

“Get us home,” Leia’s father said through the partition separating the driver from the back. “Now.”

“Yes, sir,” Balaar said, and gunned the engine.

They sped out of the hangar and onto the broad avenue leading out through the palace gates. They slowed only for a second, while Balaar flashed the Organa family’s badge for the guards standing at the outpost, and then they were gone and speeding out into the great city of Coruscant.

Leia’s father closed the partition, cutting off the sight of Balaar’s and Rebécca’s heads. Then he turned to Leia sitting on the seat across from him, and fastened his safety belt.

“Leia,” her father said, “I need for you to be very brave.”

“Okay,” Leia said, feeling afraid. She could still taste the blood, and the tone of her father’s voice sent chills crawling up and down her back.

“Something very bad has happened.” Her father took a deep, steadying breath. “The punch you drank was poisoned.”

Leia went very still. She knew what that meant--both her father and her mother, before she had died, had been poisoned. It had never happened to her, but Leia had known, ever since she was old enough to understand such things, that it was a possibility. She knew that a great many terrible things were possible for royalty.

She was scared. The yellow and the taste of blood and ash seemed suddenly very far away. This was real, not figments of her thoughts and feelings.

“Why?” she asked in a very small voice.

“That’s not important right now,” her father said. He leaned forward and took her hands in both of his. “The important thing is that you’re going to be okay. Okay?”

Leia nodded slowly.

“I promise,” her father said. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“Okay,” Leia said, slow and soft but sure. She trusted her father.

More than anything, she trusted her father.

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small vial. With shaking hands, he unscrewed the vial’s lid, and then poured a small dose of shining black liquid into it. He held it up to the lights streaming past the windows, poured a little more into the lid, then poured a little back into the vial. He held it up again, and nodded.

“This will help slow the poison,” he said, handing the lid to Leia. “Make sure you drink it all.”

Leia nodded and, tilting the vial’s lid to her lips, drank the potion in one gulp. It tasted bitter and dry. Leia gagged, but forced the liquid down.

There was a beat of silence. Two.

“When will I--” Leia began to ask--only to be interrupted by a sudden strike of nausea. She stopped talking abruptly and curled over her stomach. “Papá,” she gasped. “It hurts.”

“I know, Lelila,” her father said. He leaned forward and took her hands in his once more. “It will be alright though.”

Leia gasped again. Pain seared through her, from stomach to skull, like lightning and thunder and fire. She cried out, and grasped at the sleeves of her dress in a desperate attempt to ground herself against the agony coursing through her, creeping out into her fingers and knees and teeth.

“Papá,” she said again.

And then he was there. His strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her free of the safety belt he unclipped, and dragging her into his lap.

“I’ve got you, Lelila,” her father murmured. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Leia cried out and thrashed against the pain. It did not abate, only rolled through her in ever-strengthening waves. Her vision stole from black to red to black again, until all she could see was the lights flashing past the windows. Her head ached, her chest throbbed, her throat burned. Her world narrowed to each second as it dragged inexorably by, each one longer than the last.

Another spike of nausea came and went. Leia curled over onto one side and retched miserably, sending vomit splattering across the floor.

“I’m sorry, Papá,” she groaned.

“Shhh,” her father crooned. “It’s alright. It can be cleaned.”

The partition opened, and Rebécca’s worried face appeared in the gap. “What’s happening?” she asked.

“Just drive,” Leia’s father ordered sharply. Then, softer, “We have to get her home as quickly as possible.”

Rebécca nodded and turned back, closing the partition behind her.

Leia groaned. It felt as if her very bones were on fire--as if needles were piercing her flesh, and were ripping her blood and muscle out through the pores of her skin. It hurt like acid, and like ice. It hurt like lightning.

“Please,” Leia begged in a tiny, strangled voice, pulling herself back into her father’s lap. She buried her face in his chest, clutching at his tunic with desperate hands. “Please, make it stop.”

“I’m sorry, Lelila,” her father said. He pressed a kiss into the top of her head and held her tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

Leia cried, sobbed, screamed weakly, her face buried in her father’s tunic, her hands grasping at him desperately. And her father, curled around her as tightly as he could, begged for her forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, Leia,” he murmured, rocking her gently as she cried out, thin and pitiful. “Please forgive me.”

But Leia did not hear.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully it won't be another six months until I update again. (Though honestly, the better response I get from this chapter, the more likely it is I'll update soon. Not to bribe you or anything... (I'm totally trying to bribe you.))


	3. Part 1: Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, it wasn't six months again! I hope you all enjoy this chapter.

CHAPTER 2

"My lord? My lord, what has happened?"

Doritha-plump, silver-haired, and head of the Organa family's household on Coruscant-followed Bail closely as he pushed his way into Leia's bedroom, his daughter cradled gently in his arms. Her head lolled limply against his shoulder, and one arm hung loose at her side.

"My lord?" Doritha asked again.

"She was poisoned," Bail said, sharp like static. He knelt down beside Leia's bed, and laid her down gently on top of the coverlet.

 _Please_ , he prayed,  _let her be safe._

"Poisoned?" Doritha gasped. One hand flew to her mouth. "Great Mother Goddess," she whispered. Then, carefully, she asked, "What can we do?"

Bail smoothed back a lock of hair that had escaped Leia's braids. "Wait for the doctor," he said. He bowed his head, both of his hands curling around one of Leia's. Softly, he added, "That's all we can do right now."

 _Wait…_  The word echoed in Bail's head, and he felt his heart hammer against his ribs.  _But which will come first,_  he wondered, _the doctor or the Sith?_

 _No,_  Bail told himself firmly.  _We don't even know that the Sith will follow us here._

 _But was that not why you_ poisoned _your own daughter_? a second part of his mind rejoined.  _If the Sith do not follow, why did you poison her and risk her life?_

 _Because they might come. All we can do is wait,_  Bail thought. That was what it came back to, in the beginning and in the end: waiting.

"What doctor?" Doritha asked, distracting Bail's inner turmoil. Bail heard her take a tentative half step closer to him, heard the worry in her voice. He chanced a glance up at her, and watched her wring her hands in her apron in worry, knuckles turning white.

"There's a doctor a few levels down from us," Bail said. "I sent Rebécca to get him."

Doritha nodded. "Good," she said. "I'll go fix some tea." She whirled and disappeared through the door.

Bail let her go without comment. Doritha needed something to do-some action to occupy her hands-and he didn't begrudge her that. He only wished that he was so easily distracted.

"Oh, Leia," he whispered, turning back to his daughter. He rose from his kneeling position and sat on the edge of her bed, gathering her to him. She was light in his arms, and with a pang Bail remembered just how young she was.

 _How could I have done this?_  Bail wondered. He knew the answer, knew the danger likely still encroaching moment by moment-but all the same, as he looked down at his still and pale daughter lying on her bed, all he could think was,  _Dear gods, what have I done?_

They had just celebrated Leia's ninth birthday. It was the first without Breha, her mother, and it had been a bittersweet affair. The party, held at the palace, had felt empty without Breha's presence, and Leia had confessed privately to her father that evening that she had hated the whole event.

"Next year," Bail had promised her as he sat by her bed, the book he had been reading to her lying open on his lap, "we'll do something private for your birthday-something with just the two of us. How does that sound?"

Leia had thrown herself at him, hugging his neck tightly. "That sounds wonderful!" she had exclaimed, and then had kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Papá."

Now, sitting by her side as she lay silent as death, Bail feared that she would never see her tenth birthday.

 _Please,_  Bail prayed again.  _Mother Love, protect her. Vasieer, Daughter of Courage, give her strength._

There came a commotion in the hall-voices and footsteps, harried and strained. "Right through here," Bail heard Rebécca say, tone clipped with worry. She appeared in the doorway followed by a short, stout man carrying a satchel and dressed haphazardly in a long beige overcoat, orange sleep pants, and a misbuttoned shirt. "Sire," Rebécca said, standing aside to give the man enough space to press by her, "I present Dr. G'Bralza."

"Doctor," Bail said, shifting Leia back onto the bed and rising. He extended a hand to Dr. G'Bralza, who took it with a firm shake. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course, of course," the doctor replied. "Now please, tell me what's wrong. Your guard here said something about poison, but not much else."

"My daughter, Leia," Bail said. "She's been poisoned."

"I see," Dr. G'Bralza said. He slung the satchel onto the bed by Leia's feet, and then perched on the edge of the mattress. "Do you know with what?"

"No," Bail lied. "Though some of her symptoms align with Wormwood Ash. That's a fairly common poison on Alderaan."

"I've heard of it," Dr. G'Bralza said. "I've never encountered it, though. What are the symptoms?"

"Vomiting," Bail said. "Sudden fever. Difficulty breathing."

"Those are all fairly common side effects of many poisons," Dr. G'Bralza pointed out. He opened his satchel and pulled out a small device, which he clipped to the forefinger on Leia's right hand. A second device appeared from the depths of the satchel, the screen lighting up with a cursory flick of Dr. G'Bralza's fingers. He used it to scan Leia's chest and torso.

"What do we do?" Bail asked, hovering over the doctor's shoulder.

"I believe the most prudent option would be to transport Miss Organa to a hospital at once," Dr. G'Bralza said. "Her O2 levels are fluctuating wildly and she is in mild respiratory distress. Many of her internal organs are also showing preliminary signs of failure."

"No," Bail said, short and sharp. "No hospitals."

"Sir, I really must-" Dr. G'Bralza began, looking over his shoulder at Bail.

"I said no," Bail snapped, cutting him off. "My daughter was just  _poisoned_ , Doctor. I don't trust anyone else." He did not add that he feared what would happen if a Sith appeared in the hospital-if, gods forbid, Leia was discovered in a place surrounded by nurses and doctors, patients and patients' families. The death count, Bail feared, would be incredible.

"Then why do you trust me?" Dr. G'Bralza asked, turning fully and raising his eyebrows.

"Because I had you thoroughly vetted from the first week you moved in below us," Bail replied tersely. "Now are you going to help my daughter or not?"

Dr. G'Bralza hesitated, his breath of indecision as sharp as a pin. Then, "Of course I am," he said. "I'm not about to let a little girl die-not if I can stop it."

"Good," Bail said. "Then help her."

Dr. G'Bralza sighed, then straightened. His voice, when he spoke, cracked with a new air of command.

"Until we can ascertain what she was poisoned with, we will have to treat the symptoms. Lord Organa, can you obtain 50 milligrams of ketamine for me?"

"I'll send one of my people to get some at once," Bail said.

"Good." Then, muttered under his breath to himself as he turned, Bail heard Dr. G'Bralza say, "Now to draw some blood to see what this thing is..."

"Is that necessary?" Bail asked, pausing and turning in the doorway. He fixed the doctor with a long, hard look.

Ever since she was old enough to understand, Bail and Breha had taught Leia to never let anyone draw her blood; there were too many secrets that could be found out using only a single vial of it. Even with the poison in her blood destroying her midichlorians, Bail found it difficult to let go of this fear of discovery.

"We need to know what she was poisoned with," Dr. G'Bralza said. "So yes, it is necessary."

Bail hesitated, emotions warring in his heart and mind. Anakin and Padmé's DNA ran strong and true in her blood. Her midichlorian count was, if Yoda and Obi-Wan were to be believed-and there was no reason not to believe them-as off the charts as Anakin's had been. So many secrets could be discovered by the wrong test. So many lives hung in the precarious balance of secrecy surrounding Leia and the blood coursing through her veins.

More than that, Bail was not sure what all the doctor would be able to find with her blood. Would he realize that Bail himself had been the one to poison her? Would he figure out that the poison she had ingested was one meant to target midichlorians, rather than to take her life?

 _So many secrets,_  Bail thought.  _There are so many secrets her blood holds._

Aloud, however, Bail said, "Very well." The words were heavy and tasted of doom on his tongue, but he could not figure out a way to dissuade the doctor from doing it-not unless he wanted to raise the very suspicions he hoped, and prayed, would not come to light.

Bail waited a moment more, watching as the doctor pulled out a hypo and empty vial from his bag. Then he turned to leave the room, and Leia, behind him. He needed to find someone to go fetch the doctor's ketamine.

He only hoped he could find someone soon. Already he yearned to be back at Leia's side.

 _Please..._  he prayed.

The door shut behind him, and Bail turned.

To Bail's surprise, he found the hallway outside Leia's door crammed full of people. For a second he could only stand and stare, eyes roaming over the many strained and worried faces arrayed before him. Doritha was there, a pot of tea clutched in her hands; Rebécca stood at the front, still dressed in her ceremonial armor and wearing her sword on her hip; the cousins Abretheer and Abrothaar, who Malothar was eyeing for the next appointment of Honor Guard members, stood behind her. Besieer, Caral, Doran, Felthar...

It appeared that all of the household staff, as well as the guards that had accompanied Bail and Leia to Coruscant, were clustered outside her door, pale and concerned.

"Abretheer," Bail said, stepping forward and raising his voice in command. Though he wanted as many of his guards present as possible if the Sith arrived- _When the Sith arrive_ , Bail told himself; he had to plan for that eventuality-the only one he trusted more than Abretheer and Abrothaar to obtain that which might save his daughter's life was Rebécca. And Bail wanted Rebécca at the apartment, with him and Leia.

Rebécca looked over her shoulder at Abretheer, then stepped aside so that he could come forward. He snapped into a quick salute, only relaxing when Bail said, "At ease.

"I need you to obtain 50 milligrams of ketamine. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sire," Abretheer said. "Consider it done."

Bail nodded. "Go quickly," he ordered. Abretheer stiffened once more in salute, then turned and vanished into the crowd, heading toward the staircase and the garage.

Once he was gone, Brienné, a young girl who had only been serving on Bail's staff for two years, asked, "Sire, what can we do?"

Bail remembered the cold of the poison's bottle in his hand. He remembered Leia going white, remembered hearing her groan of pain. He remembered her body going limp in his arms those last few seconds before they arrived at the apartment.

 _You've done this,_  Bail thought.  _This is all your fault. And for what?_

 _To save her,_  Bail reminded himself.  _You did this to save her._

Bail looked back at Brienné, at Rebécca, at Doritha still standing with the forgotten pot of tea in her hands. "Pray," he said.

_Pray that I haven't damned us all._

~o0o~

Leia dreamed of the past.

She stood in the great northern temple of Vasieer Brightheart, Alderaanian goddess of courage and strength of heart. On a dais before her stood the altar, cold blue and colder ice, inscribed with the ancient tongue of Alderaan, in which the first prophecies had been uttered. To either side of the altar stood two figures: one was tall and thin, dressed in a flowing robe as blue as ice over a leather tunic embossed with silver; the other was broad-shouldered and dangerous, clad in leather hunting gear and a wolf-pelt cloak, a snowfox skull hiding her face.

They were the Bright Priestess and the Wolf, Vasieer's two greatest clerics-the ones who led her people in prayer and song, and who led her priestesses on the hunt for the icebear, whose blood was required for sacrifice.

_Boom._

Leia looked around. Standing between the columns that lined the cavern hall were a dozen more women, each clad in leather hunting gear, each with snowfox skulls masking their faces. There was a beat of silence, deadly and hollow, as each of them raised their drumsticks in the air. Then, as one, they brought them crashing down on the rawhide drums standing before them.

 _Boom_.

The Bright Priestess stepped forward, the sleeves of her blue robe falling away as she lifted her hands. "Step forward, Child of Alderaan," she intoned. "Meet the goddess Vasieer."

"May she judge you worthy of her blessing," the Wolf added, stepping forward as well, and lifting her hands in silent supplication.

_Boom._

Leia took a step forward, toward the priestesses, toward the altar. It stood before her, cold and resolute, a silent sentinel beckoning her onward.  _Come_ , it seemed to whisper to her.  _Come to me, Child of Alderaan._

Behind her, Leia could feel the eyes of her parents. She remembered the warmth of her mother's last hug, those final moments before the Bright Priestess had led Leia into the shrine; she remembered the soft tenor of her father's voice, as he had said, "We'll be with you the entire time, my Lelila."

 _Come,_  the altar beckoned.

_Boom, boom, boom._

Leia knelt, her knees cold against the ice of the dais. The dress she wore, as thin as gossamer and as white as the snow of the mountains, did little to protect her from the chill.

_Boom._

_Boom._

_BOOM._

Leia bowed her head, clasped her hands before her, and closed her eyes.

_BOOM._

_Why have you come, oh Child of Alderaan?_

The voice was fire and sleet and the vastness of space. It was a hundred thousand brilliant strands of light, shining in brilliant gold and deepest violet and shimmering chartreuse. It was a tapestry of sound, of thought, of hope and despair and eternity.

It was everything. It was nothing.

It sang in Leia's blood like the twin suns she had dreamed of presiding over endless dunes of sand.

 _Why have you come to me?_  the voice asked again.

"If she speaks to you," the Bright Priestess had instructed, "tell her-"

 _I have come to ask Vasieer's blessing,_  Leia replied, the words forming like clay in her mind.

 _Ah,_  the voice sighed, and in it was the winds of all the skies above Alderaan.  _Courage. Strength of heart. You come to seeking these?_

 _Yes,_  Leia said.

Laughter, bright and blue and sharp like crystal clear glacier.  _But you already have that. It is within you already-in your heart and in your blood, though hidden beneath veils of lies._

 _I don't understand,_  Leia said.

 _Not yet,_  the voice replied.  _But you will, oh Child of Alderaan. Oh child of the Force_.

Leia opened her eyes, the final words echoing in her mind with all the sharpness of ice.

The twin suns, which she had dreamed of countless times, hung on the edge of the world, turning the waves of sand that stretched out beneath the sky to running gold. The air shimmered with heat, the heavens burned with rose and flame and dusty violet, and Leia's lungs filled with the dryness of the desert.

There was laughter, and the patter of childish feet on the sandy ground. Leia turned. Running toward her was a boy with straw-blond hair, with eyes as blue as sapphires and as bright as the mountain sky. He laughed again, and his eyes met hers, lips hooked with a carefree, boyish smile. "I know you," he said, coming to a halt a few feet away from her. "I've dreamed of you."

"And I of you," Leia replied, taking a step forward, lifting a hand to reach for the boy. He reached for her as well, and their fingertips met. His fingers were warm beneath hers, solid and steady and as real as waking. His smile faded, and his blue eyes turned sad.

"I know you," he said again, wistful and longing.

And the boy faded from view.

The twin suns, which had burned like halos behind the boy, did not; they remained balanced on the lip of the world-but as she watched, the sky bled to scarlet, starting in the east and crawling to the west. Rising on the dry wind, tumbling over the dunes and swirling around her ankles, Leia heard a symphony of a hundred screams. And beneath, above, within it, creeping on the avenues of the wind and sinking down into her bones, was a strange hum that Leia thought she knew.

She whirled on her heel, eyes roaming across the waves of sand in search for the source of the noise. And there, almost hidden between two dunes, Leia saw a tongue of blue flame shining against the red sky. Beneath its feet a hundred forms cowered.

The tongue of blue flame rose and fell-and rose and fell again, and again, and again, until there was only stillness and silence at its feet.

Leia blinked, and found herself standing amid the massacre. Blood stained the sand, and fire licked at the edges of cloth tent walls. The twisted, burned corpses of the people birthed by the desert's sand lay in crumpled heaps, in ones and twos and threes, shapes made of shadow and death. Leia took one step, then another, and found herself staring at the hewn body of a child no older than her. Its face was twisted in fear.

The fire licking at the tents licked at the edge of Leia's vision-and the child lying at her feet her blurred and ran, like wax melting from a candle, until its skin was smooth and pale like bone, body clad in brown robes twisted around the wound burned and hewn in her chest. Leia took a frightened step backwards, only for her heel to catch on something soft. She fell back, landing on her butt, hands going out to catch herself-only to scramble quickly back as she felt chilling flesh beneath her fingers. She came to a halt, and looked at what had tripped her-and there, lying still and silent before her, Leia saw another dead child with a burn through his chest.

The fire, still licking on the edge of Leia's conscious, climbed higher. She shut her eyes, afraid-and in the darkness behind her eyelids, Leia heard a scream. It was a hollow, ragged scream, hiding a single, painful word.

" _Traitor_!"

The fire crept in behind her eyelids.

Two figures emerged from the flames. The first stood on the sloping banks of a burning river; the second lay half-submerged in the sullen red lava, an arm of metal scraping through the rubble on the bank's edge in a vain attempt to pull himself free.

"You were the Chosen One," the first man screamed while the second man burned. In his voice was heartbreak.

"No," Leia begged, covering her ears with her hands. She had dreamed of this-of the burning man, and of the man weeping on the bank above him-before. It was her worst nightmare. "Please."

The fire roared. It swallowed her whole.

She screamed.

Then-nothing. Drifting, aching, empty nothing.

Leia opened her eyes.

She was standing in a black throne room hung with scarlet banners. On the far end rose a glittering dais, upon which sat a hard throne made of sharp obsidian.

Leia blinked, and the throne room was gone. In its place was a room overlooking a barren, mountainous landscape riddled with rivers of lava. Behind it all, within it all, over it all was a hard, mechanical breathing.

Leia blinked again, and the room was replaced with eyes, hooded and hung with shadow: blue eyes-like the boy's, like the burning man's-that bled to sickly yellow.

A hand on her shoulder, gripping hard enough to bruise.

A ship, old and contrary, flying past stars that blurred and bowed.

Trees tall and proud and hung with mist; ice and snow and bitter wind; sand and two suns burning, burning, burning.

A black mask.

A severed hand lying on dark stone, on slick metal, on burning sand.

 _The past_ , the voice whispered to her.  _The future._

 _Please,_  Leia said to it. She did not know for what she begged.

Green fire.

A planet gone in an instant of flame and silence.

A boy with black hair that gleamed blue; a blind man holding light.

 _Please_ , she said again, and closed her eyes.

_I am with you, oh Child of the Force._

She opened her eyes.

The Wolf and the Bright Priestess knelt before her.

"Child?" the Wolf asked, putting out a hand to steady Leia as she swayed. "Are you well?"

"Did Vasieer speak with you?" the Bright Priestess asked.

"Yes," Leia whispered. "I think so."

"And what did she say?" the Bright Priestess asked.

Leia looked over her shoulder at her parents. They stood at the foot of the altar's dais, worry painted in their eyes in and in their mouths. Her mother clung to her father, who had an arm around her shoulders.

"She said she is with me," Leia said at last, turning back to the Bright Priestess and the Wolf, who smiled and lifted their arms heavenward in praise. The words tasted like snow in her mouth-cold and sweet and sharp.

"And what did you see?" the Wolf asked, lowering her arms and looking at Leia once more. "Did Vasieer send you a vision?"

Leia remembered the fire, the boy with blue eyes, the man burning on the bank of the river of flame. She remembered the throne room, and the black mask, and the boy with blue-black hair. She remembered the ship, and the twin suns.

"No," she said, the lie falling from her lips with ease. Her mother and father had long ago taught her not to share her dreams with anyone.

The Wolf and the Bright Priestess frowned, but nodded. "Very well," the Bright Priestess said. She stood, and gestured for Leia to stand as well.

"Vasieer has spoken," the Bright Priestess proclaimed, voice ringing out through the hall. "Our princess has Brightheart's favor!"

A cheer arose, echoing and re-echoing from wall to wall. Behind her, Leia could feel her mother's and father's pride welling, shining forth in their smiles.

And beneath it all, as faint as a whisper, Leia heard once more,  _I am with you, oh Child of the Force._

And Leia woke.

~o0o~

Leia's return to consciousness was gradual, like water dripping from an open faucet.

First she was aware of the expand and contract of her ribs as she drew in breath.

_In._

She felt the prickle of cool air against her face and lips.

 _Out_.

She felt the soft silk of her dress against her skin.

_In._

She felt her heart beat, fast but deliberate, against her ribs.

_Thump._

She heard voices, distant and echoing, far above her.

_In._

The voices resolved into words, one at a time.

 _Thump_.

She only understood a handful of words, words like "concerned" and "doctor" and "now".

_Out._

"Leia."

Her eyelids fluttered. For half a second she saw the star-painted ceiling of her room. Then more darkness, and weight against her eyes, dragging her eyelids down.

"Leia?"

Someone squeezed her hand.

_Thump._

_In._

_Out._

"Can you hear me, Lelila?"

She knew that voice. Knew the words it spoke.

Her eyelids fluttered again, and this time she caught more than a glimpse of her ceiling. A face, bent close, creased with worry and concern. A face she knew; a face she loved.

"Papá?" Her voice came out as a croak. Her breath tasted bitter and sour, like vomit.

"Shh," her father murmured, and she felt his hand against her forehead, smoothing back her hair. "Don't try to talk right now."

Then his voice changed, moved away from her. She heard him say to someone else, "Get some water. And tell Dr. G'Bralza that Leia is awake."

"Yes, Sire," someone said in reply, and then Leia heard footsteps hurrying away.

"Papá," Leia said again, and she struggled to sit up.

"No, Lelila," her father said, pressing her back down to the bed. "You need to rest." A breath of hesitation, in which Leia struggled against him, against herself. Then she sank back down, exhausted, and let the bed and blankets under which she was swathed welcome her.

"Why do I hurt?" Leia asked. Her voice still sounded half a croak.

Her father looked at her for a very long moment, his brow pressed into a frown. He seemed to hesitate, as if he was torn between two invisible options. Dazed and barely awake as she was, Leia could only guess at what that meant. He seemed worried, though-worried enough for Leia to see and sense it.

Leia wondered what he was thinking. As she lay there and looked at her father's worried face, she wondered too if she should reach out for him, as she did sometimes, to listen to the echoes of his thoughts and feelings. For, sometimes, when she was very quiet and very still, and when her father was most disturbed, she could hear his emotions. She could sometimes even make out the faintest imprints of what his thoughts had been.

Now, his worry made her worry, both for him and for her.

"Papá?" Leia asked. This time it was her who squeezed her father's hand.

Her father smiled. "It's okay, Lelila," he promised. "I'm just worried about you." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Leia's forehead. "I was so worried for you," he whispered.

"Why?" Leia asked, after her father leaned back. "And why...why am I so tired? And achy?"

Her father's frown deepened. "Do you not remember?" he asked.

Leia thought back. She remembered the Solstice ball-remembered her dress; remembered the long, slow drive through the palace gates; remembered her fear at the palace spires-and remembered her father scooping her up into his arms. She remembered the flight through the kitchens to the garage, and remembered her father sitting across from her in the speeder, holding a small, black vial.

She remembered her father saying, as serious as she had ever heard him, "I need for you to be very brave."

Very softly, Leia said, "I was poisoned. That's what you told me."

"Yes," her father said, just as softly. "That's right."

Leia shivered, and hunkered down into the blankets. Her head throbbed, making it difficult to think, and her chest hurt with a low, dull ache. "Who did it?" she asked.

Her father shook his head. "We don't know," he told her. "But don't worry. We'll figure it out."

Leia nodded. Above all, she trusted her father-trusted him with her safety, trusted him to do as he promised. "Okay," she said.

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then, looking back up at her father, Leia asked, "Is that what you're so worried about? Who poisoned me?"

Her father looked surprised. "What do you mean?"

"You're worried," Leia said. "I can tell."

Once again, Leia's father reached down to smooth back her hair. "I'm just worried about you," he said gently. "You gave me quite the scare."

Leia nodded. That made sense. But all the same, as her father smiled at her, Leia could not help but feel as if there was something else-something deeper, something darker, that her father feared that had nothing to do with her being poisoned.

Footsteps. Leia lifted her head just enough to see Brienné coming forward with a cup in her hand. She gave it to Leia's father, who thanked her, then turned back to Leia.

"Here, Lelila," he said softly, and held the cup to Leia's lips.

Water, cold and clear, trickled into Leia's mouth. She drank greedily, grateful to wash the taste of bile from her tongue.

"That's enough for now," her father said after a few seconds, and pulled the cup away. "I'll let you finish it in a few minutes, once we know your stomach is settled." He smiled at her then, and settled back down onto the edge of her bed.

"Am I going to be okay?" Leia asked after a moment in which silence reigned.

"Yes, my Lelila," her father said. "You're going to be just fine, if a little sore and achy for a few days. Dr. G'Bralza did a fine job healing you."

"Dr. G'Bralza?" Leia asked.

"He's the doctor who attended you," her father told her. "He should be coming-"

"He's here," a new voice said, punctuated by the sound of the door opening and closing.

A stout man with salt-and-pepper hair and beard appeared at Leia's bedside, opposite her father. The man smiled at Leia and extended his hand.

"I am Dr. G'Bralza," he said when Leia took his hand and shook it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Leia."

"Nice to meet you too," Leia said shyly. She looked sideways at her father, who smiled encouragingly.

"Now," Dr. G'Bralza said, "let's take a look at you."

He took out a stethoscope and pressed it to Leia's chest, listening to her heartbeat. Then he fixed a small nodule on her the forefinger of her left hand. "To measure your oxygen rates," he explained when she asked what it was for. He also scanned her stomach, and informed her and her father that "The organs that showed preliminary signs of failure have stabilized.

"She's out of the woods," he pronounced at last, sitting back and smiling broadly at Leia. "You, young miss, are going to make a full recovery."

"Thank the Mother," Leia's father breathed. She looked at him, and felt his hand tighten reassuringly around hers. He smiled at her.

"How are you feeling?" Dr. G'Bralza asked Leia.

"My head and chest hurt," Leia said. "And I feel all shaky and tired."

"That's to be expected. You're going to be weak and shaky for the next few days," Dr. G'Bralza said. "And you'll likely be queasy and nauseous, so I recommend broths and light soups for a couple days."

"Of course," her father said. "Thank you, Doctor."

"My genuine pleasure," he said, and patted Leia's arm. "I'm just glad this story had a happy ending."

A strange look flashed across her father's face. Was it doubt? Uncertainty? Fear? As quickly as it had appeared, however, it was gone, and Leia was left wondering.

"How can we repay you?" her father asked, his tone even and earnest.

"No need to pay me," Dr. G'Bralza said.

"I insist. You have done the Organa House a great service tonight. We must reward you in some way."

"The chance to finish the meal Madame Doritha and your cook made is reward enough," Dr. G'Bralza assured her father.

"At least allow me to walk you down?" her father asked.

Dr. G'Bralza laughed. "If you insist, my lord."

"None of that," Leia's father said with a smile. "I insist you call me Bail." He turned to Leia. "I'll be right back, mi niná."

"Okay," Leia said, and smiled up at him.

Dr. G'Bralza and her father left, talking quietly. Once they were gone, Leia propped herself up in bed and reached for the cup of water, which her father had left on her bedside table. Holding it with both hands-even holding the cup was difficult, she was trembling so much-she took three long drinks, draining the cup dry. With a sigh, she set the cup back on the table and settled back into her bed.

Her room was as quiet and warm as ever. The walls were painted a pale pink, just dark enough to be visible but not so dark as to dominate the open space. The color gathered the warm lights set into the ceiling and threw back a comforting, rosy glow. The bed, bedside table, and wardrobe, which sat in the far corner of the room beside the wall of windows, were made of a dark cherry wood, which accented the rosy glow of the walls. The cushions on the window seat, centered on the wall of windows, were a deep red, matching the comforter and pillowcases on Leia's bed. The door to the 'fresher was on the other side of Leia's bedside table, and the door out into the hall, standing open now in wait for her father's return, faced her over the end of her bed.

Leia lay back into her pillows and pulled the blankets to her chin. Then, closing her eyes, she let out a long breath.  _Three_ , she counted silently.  _Two. One._

It was time, she decided, for her to listen to her father-to learn, if she could, what was still worrying him.

She saw darkness. There was nothing before her and nothing behind her save an empty expanse of black shadow. Her heart beat against the prison of her ribs, her breath echoed in her lungs and in her mouth, and her blood pounded in her ears and in her veins.

 _Still_ , Leia told herself.  _Be still. Be quiet._

The sound of her heart, her breath, her blood faded. Then there was only silence. Only stillness.

Leia thought of her father-of his voice, of his smile, of his arms wrapped around her. She thought of him standing in the kitchen down on the first floor of their apartment, Doritha hovering by the stove, Dr. G'Bralza seated at the table in the nook lined with windows. She thought of his breath, of his heart, of his blood.

" _Papá,"_  she whispered and pressed against him-against the ghost of his skin, his bones, his mind.

Echoes: the taste of fear, stale and already half-forgotten; the smell of relief, strong and bright; the sound of joy, sun and orange and clanging like a dozen bells. And beneath it all, rippling like the coils of a serpent, oozing like brown sludge, was more fear-fear that tasted like blood and like ash.

Leia's eyes snapped open. The taste of blood and ash pressed against her tongue, crawled into her nose, ran from her eyes like tears. Her breath shuddered in her mouth, her heart crashed in her throat, her blood thundered beneath her paper-thin skin. She shivered in spite of the blankets piled around her, the chill running from her head to her toes.

Slowly, inexorably, with claws that sank fear into her heart and mind, rose the question,  _What is Papá afraid of?_

Then, nipping on the heels of her first question,  _What am I afraid of?_

"Lelila? Are you alright?"

Leia looked up to see her father standing in the open doorway. He was frowning. Before she could conjure up the words to answer him, however, he was kneeling by her side, reaching out a hand to press against her forehead.

"Do I need to go get Dr. G'Bralza?"

Leia shook her head. "No," she said. "I'm fine."

"You're pale," her father said. "And you look like you might throw up."

Leia shook her head again. "I'm okay," she said in earnest. "Promise. I don't feel sick."

Her father looked uncertain. But, at last, he nodded. "Okay," he said. "But if you do start feeling sick, tell me."

"I will," Leia promised.

She wondered if she should tell him that she could still taste the ash and the blood. She wondered if she should ask him what he was afraid of that he wasn't telling her. She wondered if he even knew that he was afraid.

"Papá," she began, not entirely sure what she was going to say.

Before she could say another word, however, Rebécca appeared in the doorway. She crossed to the bed quickly, and leaned over Leia's father to whisper in his ear. Leia strained to hear what was being said, but all she could hear was the soft murmur of Rebécca's voice.

Her father went pale.

"Stay here, Leia," her father ordered, standing quickly. "I'll be back in a minute."

The door behind them opened.

"Sir," Abrothaar said from the hallway, "you can't go in there-"

A tall figure stepped through the doorway, ignoring Abrothaar's rising protestations.

The man-Leia assumed it was a man-was dressed all in black: black tunic, which reached nearly to his knees; black leggings; black boots that laced up his shins; black gloves; black belt, from which hung a pouch on one side, and on the other a peculiar device. It was half a circle, with a grip wrapped with wire and black leather. Covering his face was a black mask.

Just the sight of him made Leia want to cry out and bury herself beneath her blankets, hiding herself from view. He reminded her of a viper coiled in the grass, of a wolf prepared to spring; he was a predator, closing in on his prey. He made the taste of blood and ash rise in her mouth, drip down her throat and chin.

She hated him. She feared him.

"Who are you?" Leia's father demanded.

"Greetings to you as well, Senator," the man said, his voice coming out hard and metallic from behind the mask. Hearing it made Leia's skin crawl, made her head pound even harder, made her want to scream and cover her ears with her hands.

"You have no right to be here," Leia's father said, the words sharp and cutting, voice imperious. "Get out."

"On the contrary," the man said. "I have every right to be here."

"On whose authority?" Leia's father asked.

"The Emperor's," the man said. "I am Twelfth Brother, of the Order of Inquisitors, and I am here on business of the Empire."

"What matter of state could be so pressing," Leia's father demanded, "that you interrupt me at my home, when I am with my daughter, who was just-"

"Yes, yes, your daughter was poisoned," Twelfth Brother said dismissively. "So I've been told."

"So what-"

"My business does not concern you, Senator," Twelfth Brother said, cutting Leia's father off for a second time. "And I recommend you check your tone."

"I will have you escorted from my home, forcibly if necessary."

"I would not recommend you try," Twelfth Brother said. "It would go poorly for your men. And for you, Senator."

"Are you threatening me?" Leia's father asked.

"Stating a fact," Twelfth Brother replied. "Now step aside, Senator. My business is with your daughter."

"Do you really think," Leia's father asked, "that I will even allow you  _close_ to my daughter? You are a masked stranger who refuses to tell me his business with her. And might I remind you," he added, "that she was just  _poisoned_?"

Twelfth Brother took a step into the room. "Yes," he said simply. "I do think that. Or I will report your insubordination to the Emperor."

"I am one of the Emperor's oldest friends," her father retorted. "Do you truly believe that your word will be held in higher standing than my own?"

The Inquisitor did not answer that. Instead, he ordered coldly, "Step aside, Senator."

"No," Leia's father replied.

Twelfth Brother moved faster than Leia thought possible. One second he was standing one step into the room, and the next he was in front of Leia's father. She heard the crack of leather against skin, and then she saw her father stumble to the side, a hand rising to his cheek.

"Put your hands in the air!" It was Abrothaar. He stood in the doorway with the blaster in his hands pointed straight at Twelfth Brother. "I said put your hands up," he said again, when Twelfth Brother made no move to obey.

Rebécca, standing off to one side, had drawn her sword. "I recommend you do as he says," she said, voice little more than a snarl.

"Tell your men to stand down," Twelfth Brother ordered Leia's father. He turned toward him, and his left hand fell to the device hanging from his belt. "You know who I am, Senator. You know what I am capable of."

There was a moment of warring indecision. Leia looked at her father and saw his expression bleed from anger to something much darker. His shoulders were stiff beneath his fine robe, and the hand at his side clenched into a tight fist. His mouth, pulled into a flat line, turned white.

"Stand down," Leia's father said at last, his hand falling from his cheek. He looked first at Rebécca then at Abrothaar. "Stand down," he said again, sharper, when neither of them made a move to obey.

"Wise choice," Twelfth Brother said softly, and Leia imagined that he was smiling. "Now," he said, and turned toward her, "Leia Organa, you are under investigation by the Order of Inquisitors."

"What does that mean?" Leia's father demanded from behind Twelfth Brother. He sounded guarded though, careful, as if he was wary of offending Twelfth Brother.

"It means," Twelfth Brother said casually, "that we have reason to believe Leia is Force Sensitive."

"That's impossible," Leia's father snapped, all pretense of caution gone. The darkness in his face sounded in his voice. "We would know if she was-"

"Silence," Twelfth Brother said, holding up a hand to forestall her father from continuing to speak. "The blood test will tell us the truth."

Leia shrank back into her pillows. "Blood test?" she asked. "But I'm not supposed to let anyone draw my blood."

Twelfth Brother cocked his head to one side. "Is this true, Organa?" he asked, half turning to look at Leia's father.

"Leia is adopted," her father said quickly. "While that is common knowledge, it was deemed wise to keep her actual genetic records out of public knowledge."

"I see," Twelfth Brother said. "Nevertheless, you will allow me to draw your blood."

Leia looked at her father, visible to one side of the Inquisitor. "Papá?" she asked.

The darkness, which Leia could not name, rose in her father's face for a moment, and the flat line of his mouth turned hard and sharp. Then it settled back behind the mask her father so often wore, and her father nodded once. "It's okay, Lelila," he said. "Just this once."

Leia wished her father had said "No." She wished Abrothaar and Rebécca would take this man away. She wished this man had never come.

She wondered also why her father was suddenly obeying Twelfth Brother. Her father was both a Senator and a Prince-didn't that mean that he had more power and authority than Twelfth Brother? And yet Twelfth Brother seemed certain in his standing-certain enough to slap her father.

Even just the thought of Twelfth Brother slapping her father made Leia's blood boil, and wish again that Rebécca and Abrothaar would take this man away.  _"Why did you let him do that?"_  she wanted to scream at Rebécca. _"Why don't you stop him?"_  she wanted to yell at Abrothaar.

Twelfth Brother stepped up to Leia's bedside, then knelt. From his pouch he drew out a small device with a needle on one end.

"Hold out your arm," he ordered.

Leia looked again at her father. He nodded encouragingly, though his eyes were dark and unhappy. Slowly, miserably, Leia drew her left arm out from beneath the blankets, and offered it to Twelfth Brother.

Twelfth Brother removed a cap from the end of the needle. Then, taking Leia's arm, he slowly and carefully inserted the tip of the needle into the crook of her arm. It stung, and Leia clenched her teeth to keep from jerking away.

The device beeped, and Twelfth Brother removed the needle from her arm. He slid the cap back onto it, then turned the device around so that he could read the screen.

For a long moment there was nothing but silence. Then Leia's father said coldly, "Now that you have your answer, Inquisitor, leave."

Twelfth Brother rose, sliding the device back into his pouch. "You are in no position to be giving orders,  _Senator_ ," Twelfth Brother sneered. He reached up, and with the sound of metal sliding against metal, the faceplate on his mask slid back to reveal flat, yellow eyes, ash-grey skin, and bloodless lips. He smiled, and the expression made shivers crawl up and down Leia's spine, made a cold, hard fist settle in her stomach.

"What do you mean?" Leia's father demanded. "You have your answer, now go."

With a single fluid move, Twelfth Brother unhooked the strange device from his belt and lifted it. Then, with the sound of a  _snap-hiss_ , a blade of crimson fire ignited from the hilt.

Leia knew what it was-had seen pictures of this weapon, had heard her father tell her stories about the old Jedi Knights wielding had seen it in her dreams, in the hands of the man with blond hair standing above the shadows cowering at his feet. It was a lightsaber.

"Bail Organa," Twelfth Brother said, turning and lifting the humming, crimson blade of the lightsaber to rest a mere inch from Leia's father's unprotected neck, "you are under arrest for committing high treason against the Galactic Empire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you thought!


	4. Part 1: Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! A new chapter! Yay!! I hope you all enjoy it. And I hope you cry >:)
> 
> (many thanks to tumblr users absynthe--minded and princess-sansa-of-ithilien for all their help <3)

CHAPTER 3

“What is the meaning of this?” Bail demanded, voice hard and cold with barely contained wrath, dripping with imperious command. “How dare you threaten an Imperial Senator and the Prince of Alderaan?”

“You are a traitor, _Senator_ and _Prince_ ,” Twelfth Brother sneered. “You waived all immunity when you hid a Force Sensitive from the Empire.”

 _No_ , Bail thought desperately. _No, Mother, please, not this._

“What do you mean, Force Sensitive?” Bail forced himself to ask, praying that his voice came out strong and unwavering. “Leia’s no Force Sensitive.”

“Blood doesn’t lie,” Twelfth Brother said.

 _Too little,_ Bail thought. _Too late._

“I don’t understand,” said Bail, arranging his expression into one of shock and confusion. “If she was Force Sensitive, we would have known…”

“You’re lying,” Twelfth Brother said. “You…” He trailed off. Then, with an expression of surprise, he said, “You are hiding your thoughts from me. But you are no Force Sensitive.”

 _No,_ Bail thought. _But I had Jedi friends._ Obi-Wan had taught him long ago how to wrap his thoughts with fog and steel wire, how to hide his thoughts and emotions from all but the strongest and most adept Force user. The final lesson had come on the night Bail had taken Leia from Polis Massa.

“Leia’s life now depends on your ability to hide your thoughts from the Emperor,” Obi-Wan had said. He had sneered the final word, and Bail had been shocked at the depth of hate he had seen gleam in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Remember what I taught you.”

“I will,” Bail had promised.

And he had. He had kept his thoughts wrapped in mist and silver, even in the face of the Emperor himself. He had hidden the truth of Leia’s parentage, had kept her Force Sensitivity secret from everyone but his wife. And as for Breha—he had taught her all the tricks Obi-Wan had taught him, until she could stare Emperor Palpatine in the eye and lie to his face just as well as he could.

They had kept Leia safe.

Until now.

“Who are you?” Twelfth Brother asked. Bail was shocked to hear hesitancy in his voice, some note of wariness that hadn’t been there before.

Bail weighed his options.

First and foremost he had to get Leia _out_.

He would flee with her to Alderaan, and from there would disappear with her into the far reaches of the Outer Rim. He would have to contact Ahsoka, ask her to meet them somewhere—Tattooine, maybe; perhaps it was time for Leia to be reunited with her brother. He should contact Obi-Wan as well, if only to tell him that Leia had been discovered, and that they were now on the run from the Empire.

Eventually they might be able to return to the arms of the fledgling Rebellion. In the meantime, Mon would have to spearhead the Rebellion’s formation; he would need to get a message to her as well, warning her of their flight, placing on her the responsibility of the Rebellion. He hated to do it, but at least for the next few years, it would be too dangerous for him—for everyone—to be directly involved with any organization in direct opposition to the Empire.

Money and transport would be no issue. Bail had enough of the crown’s jewels at his immediate disposal that he and Leia would be able to live comfortably for the remainder of their natural lives, and they could take a ship from the royal hangars on Alderaan. It had been a long time since Bail had disabled a tracking device, but he still remembered how to do it; his days as a rebellious teenager were not so far gone that he had forgotten all of his tricks.

Bail blinked, and Twelfth Brother—and Leia, lying in her bed behind him—came back into focus. He felt the burn of the lightsaber humming a mere inch from his neck, heard the Inquisitor’s breath rasping out from between his cracked lips. Then, faint at first but growing louder, as if through water, Bail heard Rebécca’s voice.

“My lord?”

Bail’s eyes flicked to the side, finding her in his peripheral vision. She was standing at the ready, sword drawn, face pale.

“My lord, what do we do?” she asked. There was bitter desperation in her voice and in her face, and her knuckles were white around the hilt of her sword.

“Yes, Senator,” Twelfth Brother drawled. Whatever wariness and concern had been in his voice before was now well-hidden. “What are you going to do?”

“Abrothaar,” Bail said slowly, careful not to move his mouth too much. He did not want to cut himself on the lightsaber hovering just below his jaw. “I need you to do what we talked about.”

From the doorway, Abrothaar said, “Yes, my lord.”

Twelfth Brother frowned. “Stop,” he called out after Abrothaar. But Abrothaar was already gone.

He turned back to Bail, the frown stamped across his face deepening in the creases between his eyes. “Where did he go?” he demanded of Bail.

“I don’t know,” Bail said.

“Liar,” Twelfth Brother said.

Bail smiled. “Obviously.”

“Where is he going?” Twelfth Brother demanded again, louder.

“I would have thought it was clear that I wasn’t going to tell you,” Bail said evenly.

“Tell me!” Twelfth Brother all but screamed, stepping forward and grabbing Bail by the throat, lightsaber humming as, with a flourish, he brought it down and away from Bail’s neck. Behind them, Bail heard Leia give a small cry of distress.

“No,” Bail said, voice thin from beneath the cage of Twelfth Brother’s fingers.

And he punched Twelfth Brother in the side of the head.

Twelfth Brother staggered, letting Bail go as he gasped with surprised pain. His lightsaber dipped toward the floor, and his booted feet dug for purchase in the carpet.

“Leia,” Bail called, stepping to the side and reaching out toward his daughter. “Leia, come here—”

Twelfth Brother snarled and, having regained his balance, whirled on Bail, delivering a sharp kick to his upper thigh. Bail’s leg buckled and he fell to one knee with a grunt, catching himself with his outstretched hand before he could topple to the side. He looked up, saw Leia half out of bed with one foot on the floor, her hands clenching the coverlet behind her; and between them, the Inquisitor stood straight and tall, turning toward Leia with one hand outstretched to grab for her, still climbing shakily out of bed.

“No!” Bail shouted, and surged upward. His left leg throbbed where Twelfth Brother had kicked him, but Bail pushed the pain away—he could nurse his bruises once Leia was safely away from the Inquisitor.

With a cry, Bail threw himself forward. He tackled Twelfth Brother, and both of them fell to the floor in a tangle of flailing arms and thrashing legs. The lightsaber flew from Twelfth Brother’s hands, landing on the floor and skidding beneath Leia’s bed.

“Leia,” Bail cried, grappling for Twelfth Brother’s wrists, “go to Rebé—”

A force like a fist smashed into Bail’s chest, and he felt the air open its arms to embrace him. For a second there was nothing but the rushing sense of falling—and then he smashed back-first into the floor. His lungs spasmed, trying and forgetting how to draw in breath.

“Leia,” Bail wheezed, desperately trying to force his lungs to obey the silent command to breathe. For an agonizing second they refused, and then in a relieved rush he dragged in a long, deep breath.

He sat up, biting back a groan. _Get up_ , a voice screamed in his head, his blood, his bones. _Get up, get up, GET UP! You have to get Leia. You have to—_

Twelfth Brother stretched out his hand, and his lightsaber flew out from beneath the bed to his waiting palm. The smack of leather-bound metal against Twelfth Brother’s hand snapped through the room.

 _Get up_ , Bail commanded his body. _Get up before he can ignite it again._

Movement. And then Rebécca’s cool, firm voice said, “Drop it.”

She stood a pace away from Twelfth Brother, body angled sideways to give him as small a target as possible. And leveled at his unprotected throat, she held unwavering the tip of her ceremonial blade. “Drop it,” she said again, low and dangerous.

Twelfth Brother smiled. “If you say so,” he said, voice low and purring. He lifted his lightsaber, then let it drop.

“Leia,” Bail said, stretching out a hand. “Come here.”

Leia took a single shaky, tottering step forward, already reaching for him.

Three things happened at once.

Twelfth Brother spun to the left, away from Rebécca’s blade, and reached out his hand; the lightsaber, lying on the ground at his feet, flew to him and ignited with a sharp _snap-hiss_ ; and Leia, halfway to Bail, let out a shriek as she was flung across the room by an invisible force. She struck the wall with a sharp _crack_ and slid to the floor in a motionless pile.

“Leia!” Bail yelled, and scrambled to his feet.

Behind him, Bail heard Rebécca scream. He turned, feet still moving, just in time to see Twelfth Brother kick the her sword, and the hand still attached to it, underneath Leia’s bed. Rebécca clutched the stump of her arm and screamed again, taking a single staggering step away from the Inquisitor.

“You shouldn’t have defied me,” Twelfth Brother snarled, following her. He seemed to rear back, drawing himself up to his full, black height. Then, with one fluid movement, he lunged forward—and stabbed Rebécca through the chest.

Bail watched in horror as the lightsaber tore through her back, as red as the blood she did not bleed. For a sickening second there was only stillness: Bail stood frozen in dismay, while the Inquisitor watched Rebécca’s legs give out beneath her, a smile crawling at the edges of his lips. Then, with a single, deft movement he pulled the lightsaber free of her body. She fell to the ground and lay still.

Twelfth Brother looked up at Bail, smile still crawling up his face. “Your daughter is coming with me,” he said, and took a threatening step forward, over Rebécca’s still body.

“I don’t think so,” Bail said, placing himself between Twelfth Brother and his daughter, still lying at the foot of the wall.

“You can’t stand against me,” Twelfth Brother said. “I will take her, and you will face the Emperor’s judgment.”

Bail heard movement through the wall, out in the corridor—footsteps, dozens of footsteps running. It was his turn to smile.

“I don’t think so, Inquisitor,” he said, and looked at the door.

Fifteen Alderaanian guards, led by Abrothaar and his cousin Abretheer, poured in through the doorway and fanned out into a line, blasters drawn and ready. They took in the scene before them—Rebécca’s body on the floor, Twelfth Brother standing with lightsaber in hand across from Bail, Leia lying by the wall—with the air of seasoned warriors, faces darkening with tightly-held anger.

Abrothaar had mustered the guard, just as Bail had requested.

“Stand down, Inquisitor,” Bail ordered. “You’ve lost.”

Twelfth Brother laughed, the sound harsh and brazen against the silence between them. “Do you really think you can stop me?” he asked.

“You’re outnumbered sixteen to one,” Bail said. He added, “We won’t hesitate to kill you.”

“Nor I you,” Twelfth Brother replied. He looked over the guards, eyes roaming from one end of their fanned-out line to the other. “Do you hear that?” he asked them. “I will give you this one chance, and this one chance alone—leave now, or you will die.”

Calmly, Bail said, “I would shed all the blood of my house if it meant keeping my daughter from your hands. Even my own.”

“We’re not afraid of you,” Abrothaar added loudly.

“You should be,” Twelfth Brother said.

He reached up to the side of his mask, and the faceplate slid down over his smiling visage. Then, he lifted a hand, and the lights went out.

There was a moment of panicked confusion. There were cries of question—“What do we do?” and “Sir?” and “Sire?”—and cries of alarm. And then, above it all, there came the screams of the dying.

The only light was that of the Inquisitor’s lightsaber and that of Coruscant’s night, bleeding in through the windows. Bail blinked against the darkness, against the flash of the scarlet lightsaber. In between its shifting shadows, he could just make out one of his guards—Cariaan, he thought—falling, a glowing line of burning cloth across her chest and stomach.

 _Leia_ , he thought, and turned. He hated to leave his guards to face the Inquisitor alone, but Leia was his first and most important responsibility. He had to reach her, had to get her out—though how he hoped to get her past the line of guards, and past the Inquisitor, without anyone noticing what he was doing, he had no idea.

Fumbling, he made his way toward where he remembered her falling, shuffling his feet so as not to kick her by accident, holding one hand out so as not to run face-first into the wall. His sight was an array of shadow and haloed light, making it nearly impossible for him to even guess at where anything was. He blinked furiously, and moved through the swashes of green and yellow afterglow, praying he wouldn’t step on Leia. Slowly, they began to fade.  

By the time he felt the smooth, painted surface of the wall beneath his fingertips, he could just make out the shadowy shapes of Leia’s bed and bedside table. Looking down, he saw the lumpy form of his daughter still lying in a heap.

“Leia,” Bail murmured, and knelt by her side. He reached out for her, still half-blind, and felt first the soft silk of her dress, then the softer silk of her hair. “Leia,” he said again, shaking her gently. “Lelila…”

“Papá?” Her voice was soft and faint, barely audible above the humming and spitting of the lightsaber as it deflected blaster bolts, above the cries of Bail’s men dying.

“I’m here, Lelila,” Bail murmured. Then he said, “Can you stand?”

In response, Bail saw the shadowy form rise.

“That’s my girl,” Bail said, and bent to scoop her up into his arms. His hands were beneath her arms when, with the suddenness of lightning, he felt the same fist of invisible power wrap around his chest and, with a mighty tug, yank him away from Leia and into the air.

The ground rushed up to meet him, and Bail braced himself. For a second time that night his lungs spasmed and refused to breathe, and Bail was forced to claw his way to his feet with his head swimming and body crying out for lack of air.

“Sire!” Bail heard someone call— then there were footsteps, and a hand latched around his elbow, dragging him backward. Bail staggered, then turned, finally able to breathe, and found Abrothaar behind him, still pulling him toward the door.

“No,” Bail said, faintly at first, then again louder. “No,” he said, and tried to tug free of Abrothaar’s hold. “Leia. I have to get—”

“My lord,” Abrothaar said, and tightened his grip on Bail’s elbow. He did stop however, and took a step toward Bail. Blaster bolts flashing past them lit Abrothaar’s face with a shifting, hellish light. He looked as grim as Bail had ever seen him, eyes dark and lidded with shadow, mouth set in a firm, sharp line. “Getting yourself killed by rushing at the Inquisitor isn’t going to save the princess,” he said.

Bail struggled for half a second, fighting to break free of Abrothaar’s hold. He was looking over his shoulder, blind and deaf to all but the shadowy figure that was Leia huddled by the wall behind Twelfth Brother. But then Abrothaar’s words sunk into his mind and consciousness, and his struggling eased.

Sensing that his lord was listening at last, Abrothaar loosened his hold on Bail’s elbow. “Come, my lord,” he urged, standing close. “Let us rejoin the others. Then together we can kill this Inquisitor and save our princess.”

Bail nodded, then realized Abrothaar may not be able to see him well enough to make out the motion. “All right,” he said, and then allowed Abrothaar to direct him toward the door and the line of guards fanned out along the wall, still firing at Twelfth Brother.

The line shifted at Bail and Abrothaar’s approach, folding them into it with graceful precision. Abrothaar guided him to the left, then pressed something hard and bound with leather into his hands.

“It’s a knife,” Abrothaar said when Bail looked down at it with confusion, unable to make out anything besides the flash of light off metal. “For just in case. And here,” he said, and into Bail’s other hand pressed a small holdout blaster. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

Bail nodded, and, after tucking the knife into a pocket on the inside of his robe, flicked the safety off of the blaster and lifted it to bear.

For the first time since it had begun, Bail took the time to actually observe the fight. As he had already noted, the Alderaanian guards stood arrayed along the door’s wall, with Twelfth Brother standing opposite them. What he had not noticed was the flash of Twelfth Brother’s lightsaber as he deflected the rapid-fire blaster bolts, or the smoke and smell of burning wood and plaster as the bolts struck floor, ceiling, and wall. Neither had he noticed the stench of singed hair and melted flesh. It was enough to make him gag.

There came a cry to his right, and Bail glanced over his shoulder just in time to watch the guard standing beside him fall, a glowing circle of plasma burned into his chest. _That makes six down,_ Bail thought detachedly. _Just ten of us left._

Bail turned back toward Twelfth Brother. The shots continued, ragged and without time or tempo, fired to be rapid rather than to be precise.

 _That’s not good enough_ , Bail thought. _We have to work together, or he’ll pick us off one by one._

_But how?_

The answer came to him, as it always did in times of adrenaline and death, as wind before a hurricane.

“Cease fire,” he cried, pitching his voice in steep command—in the way that Obi-Wan had taught him so many years ago on the battlefields of the Clone War.

His guards ceased fire.

“Don’t tell me,” Twelfth Brother said, returning his lightsaber to his side with a flick and flourish, “you’ve given up and are handing yourself in?”

“Fire on my command,” Bail said, ignoring Twelfth Brother.

“Do you really think even that will stop me?” Twelfth Brother asked derisively.

“Fire.”

Ten shots spat from the muzzles of ten blasters, red and sharp and fast.

Twelfth Brother was there, watching the blaster bolts speeding toward him—and then he was gone, somersaulting high in the air, legs tucked tight against his body, arms outspread, lightsaber humming in his hand. The blaster bolts struck the wall behind him with a sizzle and a snap, burning through the wood and plaster and leaving only dripping plasma in their wake. He landed lightly on his toes, and Bail imagined that he was grinning behind his mask.

“You’ll have to do better that, _Prince_ ,” he said, words dripping with a cruel laugh.

“On my mark,” Bail commanded, “step forward.”

“You can’t kill me, Prince.”

“Forward!”

The line took a step forward.

“Fire.”

They fired.

This time Twelfth Brother ducked, landing and rolling on the floor, coming up three paces closer to the line of Alderaanian guards than he had been. He flourished his lightsaber threateningly, and ignored the drop of burning wood that fell and rolled off his shoulder.

“Forward.”

Twelfth Brother laughed, high and hard. From behind the Inquisitor, Bail heard Leia whimper his name.

 _I’m coming, Leia_ , he thought.

“Fire.”

Twelfth Brother leapt to the side, raising his lightsaber and deflecting two of the bolts that arced toward his chest. A third, however, found its mark, and Twelfth Brother cried out in pain, staggering back and reaching with his free hand to clutch his left shoulder.

He straightened. “You’ll pay for that,” he said.

“Forward.”

Twelfth Brother watched them come, lightsaber humming at his side—waited silently, patiently, like a panther watching its prey.

“Fire.”

Twelfth Brother dove forward, rolling over one shoulder and coming up inside the bolts. He hesitated, falling into the Vaapad ready stance—knees bent, lightsaber held out and behind, free arm rising up to form a counterbalance—and for one single second, he was still.

He was still, and Bail knew, in that frozen, eternal second, that they were doomed.

With a spring and a slash, Twelfth Brother attacked. Bail just had time to see the crimson lightsaber sear downward—and then pain. He screamed, his right arm shrieking with blinding pain, and Bail staggered to his knees, clutching for his hand.

There was nothing there.

A scream beside him, countered by the _swish-hum_ of the Inquisitor’s lightsaber. Dazedly, Bail looked over his shoulder—and watched as Abrothaar’s headless torso quivered, then toppled to the ground a few inches from his severed head.

More screams. More _swish-hum-shleck_ as lightsaber hewed through flesh and muscle and bone. Bail clutched at the stump of his right hand, and watched in bleary horror as Abretheer was flung to the ceiling like a rag doll, then plummeted to the floor already broken. Then Celthar, who lost both arms to the elbows before she lost her heart; Denia, who was cut in half; Bocki, whose head rolled into the hallway.

“No,” Bail groaned, reaching blindly for the blaster still held in his severed hand.

Bostieen’s hair caught fire, the top half of his head sliding off to reveal his burned and burning brain. Kestal fell in halves.

Bail’s fingers closed around the butt of the blaster. He wrenched it free of his severed hand and brought it up.

Rian fell, the front of half of his chest charred flesh and bone. Nya died slow, speared to the lightsaber’s hilt.

Bail fired.

The bolt hit Twelfth Brother’s lightsaber and ricocheted off with a _hiss_. It struck Bail in the side. He crumpled to the ground, dropping the blaster as he reached for the new wound with a strangled cry, landing on his shoulder and hip.

Everything hurt. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think. The pain was all-consuming, all-demanding, and Bail was helpless before it.

Footsteps. And then came the humming and the flickering shadow of the Inquisitor standing above him.

“You’re no Jedi,” Twelfth Brother said. “I had wondered…. But no. You’re nothing more than a _Prince_.” He sneered the last word, making it an insult.

Bail planted his hand on the floor and pushed himself upright. Slowly, painfully, he staggered to his feet, listing and swaying with every move. At last, however, he stood toe-to-toe with Twelfth Brother, and he looked him in the eye.

“You will never win,” Bail said, fumbling with his robe, now singed and burned. “You may have won tonight, but you will never win the war.”

Twelfth Brother spread his arms and laughed. “But don’t you see?” he mocked. “I already have won. All your men are dead. You are maimed and dying. I will take your daughter, and she will be made in the Emperor’s image, just as I and all my brothers and sisters have been.”

Bail shook his head. His hand closed around the knife’s hilt.

“You haven’t killed the light,” he said. “And you never will. It will grow even in the darkest shadow, under even the cruelest tyrant. You can’t stop it.”

“We will crush it just as easily as I crushed you tonight,” Twelfth Brother retorted.

“Not so easily,” Bail said, and drew the knife.

He stabbed for the Inquisitor. The knife sank hilt-deep into his stomach, and he jerked away with a cry of pain. Blood pooled and dripped from the wound, staining his black tunic a shadow darker, staining his glove-clad fingers scarlet.

“You,” he snarled at Bail, and with a flourish of his lightsaber lunged.

Bail leapt backwards, stumbled, forced himself to his feet once more. Twelfth Brother lunged again, slicing the air a mere inch from Bail’s face, sending him tumbling back. He backpedaled quickly, ducking a third cut from the Inquisitor’s lightsaber. He clutched the knife hilt with a death grip.

The back of his legs hit something hard. Bail glanced behind him, and saw that he had backed into the window seat. Quickly he clambered onto it, then turned and faced the Inquisitor, who had come to a halt a few paces away.

He could just see Leia. She had crawled forward, out of the shadow of the wall, and was now a pale ghost lit by the windows’ light. “Papá?” she asked, quiet and plaintive.

“What now, Prince?” he asked, mocking, reaching up and sliding back the faceplate on his mask. He was grinning. “You’re all out of places to run. You’re going to die here, and you and I both know it.”

“Stay there, Lelila,” Bail ordered. “And close your eyes.”

Then, turning back to the Inquisitor, forcing the waver of pain from his voice, Bail said simply, “I may die,” he tossed the knife, catching it by the blade, “but you will never take my daughter.”

He lifted the blade to his ear, aimed, and threw. The blade flew straight and true.

Leia Organa would hardly even feel her death.

But the blade did not hit its target. It froze mid-air, blade glinting scarlet, and hung suspended a mere pace from Leia’s heart. Twelfth Brother stood half-turned, one hand extended, fingers splayed, arm trembling. His eyes were a wide, gleaming yellow, and his lips were twisted into an ugly cry.

Bail sagged against the window to his right, the pain overwhelming the last vestiges of hope he had held.

There was a long second of surprised silence. Then, softly at first, then with growing surprise, Twelfth Brother said, “You would kill your own daughter?” His expression bled from shock to perplexion, to bitterness, to wild glee.

“If it meant keeping her out of your hands—out of the Emperor’s hands—yes,” Bail said.

“I see.”

Twelfth Brother’s eyes slid half-shut and he cocked his head to one side, as if listening. Then, softly at first, then softer still, until it was little more than a murmur—though one of awe or disgust Bail could not say—Twelfth Brother said, “The Force: it screams for her death—though whether in need or in fear, I cannot say.”

Bail was silent.

A pounding on the door interrupted the Inquisitor’s musings. Bail turned slowly toward the sound, his hand going to the wound in his side; it felt as if the flesh was still burning. He heard the gears in the door grind, the mechanisms struggle to work—but the door itself did not budge.

It gave a long, low groan, and then fell silent.

Twelfth Brother laughed, turning from the door and seeing Bail’s confusion. “Do you really think I would have let anyone else come and interrupt?” he asked, derisive. He shook his head. “Not a second time, Prince.”

Whoever was on the other side of the door pounded a second time, then a third. “My lord?” It was Dalia, one of the servants. “My lord, what’s happening in there?”

Bail stared past the Inquisitor to the door—and did not answer. He doubted that Dalia and whoever else was on the other side would be able to breach the door—not with Twelfth Brother sealing it shut. And even if they did, Bail knew their chances of survival. Fifteen fully trained Alderaanian guards had failed to stop Twelfth Brother—had died where they stood at the tip of his blade; servants and footmen would stand no chance.

But all the same, what if? What if they were able to slow Twelfth Brother long enough for someone to grab Leia and run? What if they were able to get Leia from his hands? What if they managed to stall Twelfth Brother for long enough to let Leia escape?

There were too many what-ifs. Too many possibilities. He had said that he was willing to sacrifice his entire house to keep Leia from Twelfth Brother’s hands, and he had meant it. Even though he was as good as signing their death warranties, Bail could not find it in himself to tell whoever was on the other side of the door to run. Not if there was a chance—even the slightest of one—that someone could save Leia.

“My lord?” Dalia called through the door.

“Are you not going to answer your servant?” Twelfth Brother asked.

“Dalia,” Bail called, his voice quivering with pain, “there is a man in here trying to kidnap Leia.”

There was silence on the other side of the door, then hurried footsteps. Bail wondered where Dalia was going—hoped that she was running to warn the rest of the staff of what was happening. He refused to call out to her again, though. The less Bail knew, the less Twelfth Brother knew—and the less that Twelfth Brother knew, the more likely it was that his staff would be able to surprise the Inquisitor.

Twelfth Brother watched Bail with eyes half-lidded, head canted to one side. “Very interesting,” he said. “Your thoughts are still hidden from me. No matter how I press, they slip past my grasp.” He was silent for a long, drawn-out second, and then he said, no question in his voice, “You were trained by a Jedi.”

Bail remained silent, and leaned on the window beside him.

“Yes,” Twelfth Brother said. “You were. I can feel it in you. That makes you as much a traitor as one of them. I am surprised the Emperor did not punish you for it.”

Twelfth Brother turned at last away from Bail and towards Leia, still sitting in the swath of light from the window, still trembling, still silent with eyes closed. “Do you understand, little Leia? Your _father_ ,” he sneered the word, “is a liar and a traitor—to the Empire, which he swore to serve,” he paused for a weighty second, “but also to you.” Twelfth Brother grinned. “He would even have gone so far as kill you in order to keep his lies safe.”

Leia opened her eyes, long, dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks, and looked hesitantly up at Twelfth Brother standing over her. She start at him with brow furrowed and eyes as dark as the shadows behind her. Bail knew the look well—she was angry, and she felt righteous in her wrath.

“My father is not a traitor,” she said stoutly.

“Oh,” Twelfth Brother said, “but he is. He hid and tried to kill you, a Force Sensitive—and all Force Sensitives belong to the Emperor.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Leia retorted with much of her usual fire. She still looked nauseous, though, and she gulped quickly as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

“You belong to the Emperor,” Twelfth Brother snarled. “And your father’s life is forfeit to him as well.” Twelfth Brother turned to Bail. “ _Jedi sympathizer_ ,” he accused.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, _Sith_ ,” Bail retorted, trying to straighten. A flare of pain from his side doubled him over again, though, and the effect was lost.

“And yet,” Twelfth Brother said, lifting his arms out to either side in a broad gesture of amusement, “who has won the night?”

“You will never win,” Bail said, voice barely more than a groan of pain.

“I already have,” Twelfth Brother said.

Leia looked at the Inquisitor, and then very calmly said, “No. You’re evil. You’re cold, and black, and empty. You are blood and ash. I can feel it.” Then, softly, she added, “You’re a _demonio_ —the demon that Papá told me about. And evil never wins.”

 Pride and fear warred for dominance of Bail’s heart. _My brave, faithful little girl_ , he thought.

Twelfth Brother laughed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, little girl. There is no such thing as “good” or “evil”. There is only power and strength. You think your father is “good”, do you not? And yet your father just tried to kill you.”

Leia looked at the knife still hovering in the air. She took in a deep, shuddering breath, and then looked away. “No,” she whispered—but this time she sounded less certain. “No, I don’t believe that. He would never hurt me.”

“And yet he tried to,” Twelfth Brother insisted. “Just ask your father.”

Leia turned to Bail and looked at him with fearful desperation. “Papá?” she asked.

“Leia,” Bail murmured, fighting to keep his voice steady and free of his own fear and pain, clutching the stump of his hand to his chest. “I love you, Leia. I will only ever do what is best for you.”

Twelfth Brother smiled. “See?” he asked. “He doesn’t deny it.”

Leia looked at Bail. She was a phantom—a phantom of white against the shadows of the room, a phantom of uncertain fear shrouded by darkness—and her voice was weak and weakening, cracking and drowning in confusion. “Papá?”

Bail knew what she was asking. “I love you, Lelila,” he said again. “I love you more than life itself.”

“He doesn’t deny it,” Twelfth Brother said again. “He was trying to kill you, Leia. He’s a liar and a traitor, a coward.” And then, turning and smiling a panther’s smile, Twelfth Brother added, “He’s afraid of you. Of who you are. That’s why he wants to kill you. Can’t you see it in his eyes?”

Bail snarled and took half a step forward, wanting to lunge at the Inquisitor and punch him in the face but for the pain weighing him down. “It’s not that I’m afraid of her. I’m afraid _for_ her. Your master is a sick, twisted old man who has tortured and raped and killed for the mere pleasure of the power it gives him. What do you think he’ll do to a child, _my_ child, in order to enslave her to the Darkness you both serve?”

The inquisitor recoiled, thin, bloodless lips pulling back from his pointed teeth. His eyes flashed burnt yellow. “You misguided fool. You dare to speak of that which you do not understand?”

“I understand it well enough,” Bail snapped, for a minute forgetting the pain in his body, the exhaustion in his bones. “It was the Dark you serve that gunned down a child on the very steps of the Jedi Temple. It was the Dark you serve that burned and buried democracy and freedom beneath blood and slavery. The Dark Side is a poison to those who drink of it, and I have seen the disaster which it begets.”

“You fool,” Twelfth Brother sneered again. “It is power. It is life.”

“I would rather both my daughter and I be dead than let her fall to the Dark Side.”

“Well,” Twelfth Brother hissed. His voice was low and uncompromising, dangerous. “I can promise at least half of that will be true. And I will take great pleasure in it.”

Twelfth Brother stretched out his free hand and clenched his fingers into a tight fist. The knife blade, still hovering mid-air, spun in a slow circle until it pointed straight at Bail’s chest. The blade glittered in the light, sharp and promising death.

Bail stiffened in alarm, then took as deep a breath as his wounded side would allow, and forced himself to relax. His shoulders straightened and his chin lifted. “Leia,” he said softly. “Leia, listen to me.”

Leia looked at him, dark, dark eyes fixing on his. “Yes, Papá?” she asked quietly.

“Be strong,” Bail said—commanded, begged. “Be strong, Leia, and don’t forget who you are and where you came from. Remember what your mother and I taught you, no matter what they might do or s—”

The knife struck Bail in the chest with a wet _thump_. He grunted, the air driven from his lungs, and he staggered back a step. His hand drifted up, grabbed at the protruding hilt—but he did not pull the blade out.

“Leia,” he gasped, lifting his eyes to his daughter’s once more. She was silent, eyes wider still and painfully, horribly dry. “Lelila…”

Blood, darkened by the shadows and the night, spread in a black stain across the front of Bail’s tunic and dripped slowly from the edge of his hand, clenched around the knife hilt.

“I love you, Leia.”

“You hear that?” the Inquisitor mocked, turning his head just enough to look at Leia. She was frozen, knuckles white where she clutched at the skirts of her dress. It did not appear that she was even breathing. “He still claims to love you.”

“Forever and always,” Bail whispered.

Leia’s lips moved. For a second there was no sound. And then, softly, terrified and horror-struck, she whispered, “Papá—”

The Inquisitor snarled, lifted both hands, and shoved.

The window behind Bail cracked, spider webs ribboning across the transparisteel. Bail grunted, collapsing to one knee, and clutched at his chest. On the floor, he heard Leia whimper. He dragged his head up just enough to once more meet his daughter’s eyes. He poured every ounce of love and hope and faith that he possessed into that one, final look.

The inquisitor smiled, took a step forward, and pushed again.

The window shattered.

Bail had only had time for a single, surprised cry—and then the open air embraced him, and he was falling.

Leia screamed.

~oOo~

Leia was on her feet before she could even register moving. Blood rushed in her ears, the echo of her scream fading in falling decrescendos. All memory of her nausea and her weakness was gone, overrun by the tidal wave of fear and horror at seeing her father disappear through the window. The floor was hard and sharp beneath her slippers, and fragments of shattered transparisteel clinked against one another in the carpet as she passed.

If only she could reach the window, she thought—could reach the memory of her father standing on the window seat—maybe she could catch him. Maybe she could keep him from falling. Maybe, if she was fast enough, she could grab his hand and pull him back into the room. Maybe—maybe...

“No!” The cry was Twelfth Brother’s. Leia saw him move ahead of her, saw him block her path. He reached for her, lightsaber hilt in one hand. She ducked beneath his outstretched arms and slid around him, eyes only for the window.

“Papá,” she cried, and clambered onto the window seat. “Papá, I’m here. I—”

She leaned out over the edge of the broken window, uncaring of the fragments tearing at the front of her dress, or the way the transparisteel dug into her flesh and cut long, bleeding ribbons into her skin.

Her father was not there.

“Papá!” Leia screamed, looking down, down, down. “Papá, I’m here! I’m—”

And then she saw him.

He was lying in a rooftop garden two hundred feet below, surrounded by crushed tulips. The flowers bobbed and waved in the wind of his landing, red and orange and yellow, bowing their heads in a last homage to the fallen prince. He lay in a nest of glittering transparisteel, each shard reflecting the moon and the artificial lights of the city above. It looked, for a second, as if he was sleeping in a couch of light.

And then Leia saw the blood. It darkened the tulips’ leaves and the blades of grass, dark red against the night. There was so much of it.

“PAPÁ,” Leia screamed, and reached for him.

An arm circled around her waist and hauled her back into the room at the last second, just as she lost her balance. Leia thrashed against the arm, but the hold was as strong as transparisteel.

“Let me go!” Leia shrieked—and then threw up, the nausea that had abated for a moment returning with a vengeance. Twelfth Brother cursed and dropped her. Leia landed awkwardly on her side, then rolled onto her hands and knees and threw up again.

Twelfth Brother cursed again. He shook his hand, splattering vomit across the floor, and then kicked Leia in the side. She fell in a sprawl, yelping in pain.

“That’ll teach you to throw up on me,” Twelfth Brother growled, and then he stooped to scoop Leia into his arms. With a grunt, he hoisted her over one shoulder, and then turned toward the door.

“Let me go!” Leia yelled again, battering her fists against his back.

“If you don’t stop squirming,” Twelfth Brother warned, “I’ll teach you a real lesson.”

Leia did not stop squirming.

With another curse, Twelfth Brother stopped a few feet away from the door and let Leia fall to the floor. She landed on her back with a rush of air from her lungs. For a second she struggled to breathe—and in that second, Twelfth Brother knelt by her side.

He put his hand over her face, forefinger on her forehead, thumb and pinky on her cheekbones.

“Sleep,” Twelfth Brother ordered.

A white fog descended over Leia’s sight. She fought it, and fought the compulsion that followed in its wake.

“No,” she said, striking out at the white fog clouding her eyes and dragging her down towards sleep. “No!”

“Sleep,” Twelfth Brother said again.

The fog settled around her, clinging to her thoughts and creeping into her limbs. “Stop,” Leia whispered.

“Sleep,” Twelfth Brother commanded again.

And Leia slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Questions? Let me know!


	5. Part 1: Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look!! Another chapter! This is now officially longer in both word count and chapter number than the original draft.
> 
> This chapter is a little shorter than the last two - and the next one probably will be too - but I decided that a) it would just be Too Many Things in the chapter if I ended it where I originally intended to end it; b) it would probably end up like a 10k chapter, and no one really wants that.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

CHAPTER 4

Leia awoke like the dawn--slowly at first, then all at once. The darkness that held her in its warm embrace receded, falling away like shadows before the sun, leaving her free and floundering in a sudden, cold reality.

She opened her eyes. A white ceiling, tiled and lit by white-yellow lights recessed behind plastiglass panes, glared down at her. Leia blinked, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, so used to the darkness of her eyelids, and looked around.

She was in a large, white room, empty save for the bed in which she lay. A door faced her over her feet. The air was bright and sterile, tasting of antiseptic and invalidity.

“Hello?” Leia called, sitting up. Something tugged at the crooks of her elbows, and Leia looked down. Tubes and wires were affixed beneath her skin with needles and hooks. Leia jerked at the sight, alarm flaring through her.

 _What’s wrong with me?_ she wondered, following the course of the tubes and wires to the headboard behind her. A mass of machines hung there, each of them blinking long, slow lights in red and yellow and green. A bag filled with clear fluid hung above Leia’s head, droplets dripping one by one to the opaque tube sunk into the skin of her elbow.

“Hello?” Leia called again, drawing her knees to her chest and trying to pull her hands into her lap. There was a jerk, and then the sharp feel of metal against her skin. In horror, Leia looked down to the right--and saw a metal cuff wrapped around her wrist, the other end fastened around the bed’s railing. Leia looked to her left wrist, and saw the same.

“Hello?” Leia called for a third time, this time with fear coloring the ends of the word. “Is anyone there?”

Silence.

Leia jerked at the binders. Cold metal met her skin, and held fast.

“Help me,” Leia screamed, yanking again at the binders. The metal rattled against the railings. “Someone, please! Please, someone help me!” She threw herself forward, only to be jerked back by the binders. She landed on her back, her head smacking against the headboard.

“Papá!” Leia screamed. “Papá! Please, Papá!”

Blood. Blood on the tulips, bowing before his broken body. Blood on his face, his chest, his arms, his legs. Blood everywhere.

There had been so much blood.

“Papá,” Leia wailed, wrenching her arms against the binders. “Please, Papá!”

He didn’t come for her.

She knew he wouldn’t.

“Papá,” Leia whimpered, tears streaming down her face.

She hadn’t cried before--hadn’t cried when she saw him disappear through the window. She hadn’t cried when the transparisteel cut her skin, or when she leaned out into the air that had swallowed him. She hadn’t cried when she saw him in the garden far below.

She cried now.

She cried for her father. She cried for Rebécca, killed on Twelfth Brother’s blade. She cried for Abrothaar and Abretheer, and all the others that had died before her in her room. She cried for the violence, and for the pain, and for the deaths.

But mostly she cried for her father.

She wondered if that was right--if it was wrong for her to mourn so solely for one person when so many others had died. But whether it was right or not, whether she was bad for crying mostly for her father, she did not care. She cried, and she cried, and she cried for her father, dead among the flowers.

Eventually the sobs began to abate. And as they abated, the thin pillow beneath her head soaked and her face sticky with snot and tears, exhaustion crept into her flesh and bones.

“Papá,” she whispered one last time, the name precious and infinite on her tongue and lips. And then she slept.

~oOo~

She woke some time later, feeling hollow and empty. Her skin felt paper-thin, and her bones felt fragile like glass. She sat up slowly, half-heartedly tugging at the binders still fastening her wrists to the bed’s railings, and looked around her.

The room was still empty.

“Hello?” Leia called, hoping someone would hear, though no one had before. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

The door opened.

A woman entered. She was slight but sharp-featured, with a high, arching brow and a mess of curling auburn hair piled atop her head in a bun. She wore white: white pants, white tunic, white coat that hung loose and flowing from her shoulders. Even her shoes were white--white like the room, white like the bed, white like the air.

“Hello,” said Leia, suddenly shy.

The woman did not answer her.

She came around the end of the bed, then walked to the headboard. From a hook she pulled a chart and, taking a stylus from the clip on the back, began to record the readings on the machines hanging above Leia’s head.

Leia turned to watch the woman.

“What’s your name?” Leia asked, trying to sound as friendly as she could. She had learned long ago that friendliness, even at the worst of times, got you more than surliness. Not that Leia was always friendly.

Again, the woman did not answer her.

“I’m Leia,” Leia said. “Leia Organa. My father is Bail Organa, Prince of Alderaan. Maybe you know him?”

The woman continued to write on the chart.

“I don’t know where I am. Maybe you could tell me?” Leia asked hopefully.

The woman reached up to one of the machines and pressed a button. A quick prick in the crook of Leia’s left elbow made her jump, a surprised, “Ow!” ripping free of her lips before she could stop it. The machine hummed, and Leia was reminded of the times she had been to the court physician for her yearly physicals. He was the only one allowed to draw her blood, and every year he had done so with a machine very much like the one hooked up to Leia now.

“Did you just take my blood?” Leia asked the woman. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that. Papá,” Leia choked on a sudden wave of tears that threatened to escape, “doesn’t like it when people take my blood.”

The woman looked at the screen on the blood machine, and finished writing in the chart. She hung it back on the hook. She turned to Leia, and with cold hands and colder eyes, held Leia’s chin still and pressed a palm to Leia’s forehead. Leia fought to hold still, even when the woman in turn pulled her eyelids back and, with her other hand, shone a small penlight into her eyes. She nodded once, satisfied, and released Leia.

“What was that for?” Leia asked.

The woman turned on her heel and strode through the door, which closed behind her with a hiss.

Leia slumped back in the bed with a sigh. The pillow was cold and damp beneath her head. For a long moment Leia simply stared up at the ceiling, looking at the small, thin lines where each tile met its neighbor.

“I wish you were here, Rebécca,” Leia said at last, softly. She pressed her eyes together tightly and fought back fresh tears.

Rebécca had been so much more than just a guard. All of the Honor Guard were, but Rebécca had been special. One of Leia’s first memories of was of Rebécca carrying her through the gardens on her back.

“Hold on, _princesita_ ,” Leia could remember her saying. Then, taking a running jump, she had cleared a hedge in one bound. Leia had laughed, and kicked her chubby heels against Rebécca’s sides.

“Again,” she had cried, the word fumbling and round on her toddler’s tongue.

Rebécca had held her while she cried, those days she missed her parents most. Though it had not happened often, there had been times when both of Leia’s parents had been called away from Alderaan, leaving her there. Those days had always cut Leia to the quick.

“Hush, little princess,” Rebécca had murmured, smoothing Leia’s hair back with a hand as she cradled her. “Your parents will be home soon,” she had promised. “And in the meantime, you and I will have enough fun for a year.”

And they had. When Leia’s parents were gone, Rebécca had helped her sneak out of lessons. They had spent entire days in the mountains, fishing and hiking and even, once Leia was a little older, hunting. She had taught her the first basic stances for fencing. She had snuck with Leia down to the kitchens late at night, and they had made a mess trying to bake cookies.

Even more than that, Rebécca had always protected her. The time Leia had almost drowned in the pond in the gardens, it was Rebécca who had saved her. When Duke Aldrast had threatened Leia in an attempt to gain favor with the Queen and Prince, it was Rebécca who had caught him and brought him to justice.

“I wish you were here,” Leia repeated, this time a whisper.

She also wished her father was there--but thinking about him hurt too much to bear. She couldn’t even make that wish real enough to say without feeling the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes. Leia frantically shoved the tears back down her throat; she was tired of crying, and her pillow was already damp. She wouldn’t cry. Not again.

Leia opened her eyes. Rebécca wasn’t coming, and neither was her father. She had to accept that fact.

The ceiling tiles looked down at her, mocking in their brightness. Nothing, Leia thought, had any right to be that bright. Not when Rebécca was dead. Not when Abrothaar and Abrotheer and everyone else was dead.

Not when her father was dead.

Leia sat up and tugged fruitlessly at the binders on her wrists. As before, there was only the feel of metal against her skin and the clink of the binders rattling against the rails. They didn’t budge an inch.

Bored, Leia looked around her. The bareness of the room stared back. The walls were sheer and white, the floor buffed metal. The only irregularity was the thin lines between the ceiling tiles.

For a long few minutes Leia stared at the door, hoping with her bones that it would open and the woman would come back in. She, at least, was more than just the blank walls and the dully reflective floor, the white sheets on the bed and the steady blink of lights on the machines above her.

Finally, Leia flopped back down onto her pillow, still damp. The ceiling tiles, still mocking, looked down at her. She started counting them.

She had counted them twice, and was on a third time, when she heard the door open again. Leia bolted up, and saw the same auburn-haired woman enter the room.

“Hi,” Leia said. “I’m happy to see you again.” She wasn’t sure if she actually was, but she thought it would be a good thing to say. She wanted to make as good of an impression as possible.

As usual, the woman ignored her.

She came around Leia’s bed, unhooked the chart, and began writing. Leia watched her closely, but still the woman ignored her.

“Who are you?” Leia asked.

Silence.

“What are you doing here?”

The woman hummed and frowned. She reached forward and pressed a button on the blood-taking machine. There was a prick in Leia’s arm, but this time she was ready for it and she bit back the “Ow” that threatened to come out.

The woman’s frown deepened. She waited for a moment, tapping the end of the stylus against the chart, then reached out and depressed the button on the blood machine again. There was another prick in Leia’s arm, and again she swallowed a protest.

“Hm,” the woman said, and she made a note in the chart. Then she hung it on the hook, turned, and strode toward the door. She disappeared with a swish and a hiss.

Leia’s shoulders slumped. Was it too much to ask for the woman to even acknowledge her? To say something to her? To treat her like a sentient being? Was she missing something? Was something wrong with her?

The door opened again. The woman entered, followed by a man and two Stormtroopers.

The man was tall and all sharp angles, with a narrow shoulders and a pointed chin. His eyes, pale reflections of ice, were cold and piercing beneath a high, arched brow. His hair, cut short against his skull, was a sleek brown, edged with the first touches of silver.

She knew him. He was Moff Wilhuff Tarkin; she had met him once at a gala on Alderaan, in which her mother and father had hosted the Emperor and his entourage. Moff Tarkin had been among them.

He terrified Leia.

The Stormtroopers stood to either side of the door while the woman and the man crossed to Leia’s bed. Once again the woman took down the chart from its hook, and then turned to show it to the man.

“As you can see, Moff,” she said, “the subject’s midichlorian count has risen by over 100 percent since her first blood test.” Her voice was not what Leia had expected--it was deep and rich, musical like velvet, and throaty.

“I see,” Moff Tarkin said. His voice was as angled as his face, sharp and clear like shattered glass. His arms snaked behind his back, which was turned toward Leia, and he clasped his hands together. “And that is her current midichlorian level?” he asked.

“As of her last reading, yes,” the woman said. “Though her midichlorian levels are increasing so fast that I’m sure it’s higher now.”

“Show me,” Moff Tarkin commanded.

The woman’s arm appeared around Moff Tarkin, and she pressed the blood machine’s button. This time Leia was ready for the prick in the crook of her elbow.

There was a hum as the machine made its readings. Moff Tarkin and the woman turned to read the screen.

“My god,” the woman breathed. “It’s risen by over 10 percent since the last reading.”

“How is this possible?” Moff Tarkin demanded.

“I don’t know for sure…” the woman hedged.

“But you have a theory?” Moff Tarkin pressed.

“Organa stated that his daughter had been poisoned,” the woman said. “There’s an unknown substance in the subject’s bloodstream that we believe is the poison he was referencing. It seems that there is a correlation between the diminishing substance and the subject’s increase in midichlorian counts. However, we must be careful not to assign causation when there is only correlation.”

“Is there any way to ascertain that the substance is the cause?” Moff Tarkin asked.

“If her midichlorian count ceases to rise once the substance is cleaned from her bloodstream, we will have actual evidence that the substance was the cause.”

Moff Tarkin nodded. “And how long will it take for the substance to clear her bloodstream?”

“Twelve more hours, give or take a few.”

“Good,” Moff Tarkin said. “Inform me the moment it’s cleared.”

“Yes, sir,” the woman said.

Moff Tarkin turned to Leia, his pale eyes hard and cold. Leia shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze, feeling like a stain on the bed sheets. Then Moff Tarkin blinked, and turned away.

“Knowledge of her results do not leave this room,” he said. “Is that understood?”

“Of course, sir,” the woman said hastily.

Moff Tarkin turned to the Stormtroopers still standing on either side of the door. “Is that understood?” he asked again.

“Yes sir,” the two Stormtroopers replied, their answers overlapping each other.

“Good.” Moff Tarkin glanced once more at Leia, then turned on his heel and strode from the room.

After a moment, the woman left too. Only the Stormtroopers remained.

“Hi,” Leia said, looking at them. “I’m Leia. Who are you?”

The Troopers remained silent.

Leia sighed. “Please talk to me,” she said. “Just say….say _something_.”

Silence.

Leia tugged at the binders on her wrists. They jangled against the railings. “Will you help me?” Leia asked. “Please?”

The Troopers did not move.

Leia jerked at her bindings again, harder this time. It made her wrists hurt, and she winced. “Please,” she said again. “Even just unlock the binders?”

The only movement from the Troopers was the slight rise and fall of their shoulders as they breathed.

Leia flopped back onto her pillow. It was finally dry.

 _Is anyone coming for me?_ Leia wondered. _Doritha, or Brienné, or any of the others?_ Then, _I’m sure they’ll come for me. They wouldn’t leave me alone here._

But what if they didn’t know where she was? What if Twelfth Brother hurt--or even killed--them all? He had killed all of the guards; he might have killed them too.

But there were others who would come for her, who would know she was missing. Master Carlist, and Aunt Mon, and Seltha, and countless others home on Alderaan. They would find out what had happened at the apartment, and they would want to know what had happened to her. They would look for her, and they would find her.

She just had to be patient.

~oOo~

Moff Wilhuff Tarkin was having a very good day.

Bail Organa, one of the thorns in the Empire’s side, was dead, along with his whole Coruscanti household. Even now clean-up crews, hand-picked by Tarkin himself, were combing through his apartment, both to look for any incriminating evidence and making the carnage appear to be the result of a successful coup.

Twelfth Brother’s comm. call had come twelve minutes before midnight. “She is a Force Sensitive, just as you suspected,” he had said, voice thin and electric through the handheld comm. “Prince Organa knew too. He did everything in his power to stop me from taking her. I was forced to kill him, along with all of his staff.”

That had made Tarkin curse silently. The murder of an Underworld or Mid Rim family was one thing--easily explained and quickly forgotten. The murder of a Core World Prince and Senator, however, would be headline news for weeks to come. He had security, and a well-trained staff; it couldn’t be explained away as a robbery gone wrong, or as a family member going on a murder spree.

 _Damn_ , he had thought again. He should have expected that Organa would put up a fight. He should have anticipated that Organa would be willing to give up his own life to protect his daughter. That his entire staff had also been willing to give up their lives on behalf of the princess should also not have been a surprise.

This made things difficult, even as it made them simpler. With no witnesses left alive, there would be no one to challenge their cover story. It made the explanation of what happened more difficult, however, for it had to explain the deaths of nearly fifty people.

In the end, though, Tarkin had found a brilliantly simple solution--and it was one that the Emperor would be able to exploit at his leisure, if he so chose. A coup would provide the opportunity for the Empire to arrest and detain any Alderaanian the Emperor desired, on grounds of the coup’s investigation.

The Alderaanians never had fully accepted the graciousness of the Empire.

In the meantime, Tarkin had in his possession a Force Sensitive Leia Organa--an extremely Force Sensitive Leia Organa, if the latest test results were correct. The Emperor would be pleased. Of that, Tarkin was certain.

A chime came at Tarkin’s office door. He looked up from the datapad he had been reading, and called, “Come in.”

Tera, the palace doctor Tarkin had bribed to care for Leia, entered. Her auburn hair, piled in a bun on top of her head, burned in the low light of Tarkin’s office.

“Yes?” Tarkin asked, folding his hands on top of the desk. “What is it?”

“The unknown substance has been fully flushed from the subject’s system,” Tera informed him. “I thought you might like to be present for her next blood test.”

Tarkin stood. “Lead the way.”

The Imperial Palace’s medical wing was a labyrinth of white halls and whiter rooms, each more sterile than the last. The air was cold and smelled of antiseptic, and it was quiet enough to hear the squeak of your shoes on the tiled floor and the rush of the blood in your veins.

Tarkin hated it.

Leia was being kept in a room buried deep in the bowels of the medical wing, in a never-used corner of a forgotten hall. The lights were dim and only half-lit in the corridor leading to her room, and one of them flickered with an uneasy tempo. It gave the entire hall an air of disuse and neglect.

Tera halted outside the door to Leia’s room. She paused with one hand hovering over the sensor, and glanced back at Tarkin. She seemed to looking for something in his face. Whether she found it or not, Tarkin did not know, but in another instant she had pressed her palm against the sensor, and the door slid open with a faint _hiss_.

Leia Organa was a pretty child. Her long, dark hair accented her pixie’s face--pointed chin, round cheeks, and large, dark eyes that could swallow a galaxy. Her mouth was made to give commands, and though she was short and slight in stature and frame, and only nine years old, she carried with her the air and mantle of royalty that many veterans of politics five times her age had not mastered.

To Tarkin, though, she was not a princess, was not royalty; she was his ticket into the eternal good graces of the Emperor.

They crossed the room to the bed. Leia watched them come, watched them circle to the headboard and the machinery, and did not speak. Her eyes were dark, infinite pools of shadow, and in them was silent damnation. Tarkin looked away, and did not meet her eyes again.

The machine beeped under Tera’s fingers, and in his peripheral vision Tarkin saw Leia twitch. The machine beeped again, and on the datapad that Tera took down from its hook appeared a long stream of numbers.

“As you can see,” Tera said, turning the datapad so that Tarkin could see it clearly, “the substance is cleared from her bloodstream.”

“Hm,” Tarkin said. He did not understand the stream of numbers, but trusted that Tera was not lying to him. He was paying her more than enough to ensure her honesty.

“The subject’s midichlorian count has ceased to rise. And here,” Tera said, and pointed to a new number scrolling across the screen, “is the subject’s final midichlorian count.”

Tarkin stared at it. “Surely this machine is malfunctioning,” he said. Not even the infamous Obi-Wan Kenobi had a midichlorian count that high. Tarkin had done his research that afternoon.

“I don’t think so, sir,” Tera said. She pulled the datapad back to herself and tapped in a new command. A list of numbers and figures appeared on the screen. “Everything else is in order. There’s no reason to think this one line of code is malfunctioning.”

Tarkin shook his head. “I want it confirmed with another machine,” he told Tera. “And I want you to run a full battery of blood tests on the subject, including a full-spectrum DNA test. Give her a physical as well--I want to make certain that the poison did not adversely affect her body.”

“Yes, sir,” Tera said. She hesitated, then turned to him and said, “I’d like to compare my findings with another expert in the field. I believe that--”

“No,” Tarkin said, cutting her off. “This information stays inside this room. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Moff,” Tera said.

“Good,” Tarkin said. He glanced down at Leia, and then quickly averted his gaze. He looked at the two Troopers still standing by the door, and nodded his head in satisfaction. “Good,” he said again. Then, turning back to Tera, he said, “I will be in my office.”

He left without a backward glance.

Tarkin arrived back at his office a quarter of an hour later. He opened the door to darkness--he had turned his desk lamp off before leaving with Tera--and crossed to stand before the large windows overlooking the city.

The Administrative Wing of the Imperial Palace rose above the eastern wall, all glittering windows and sleek steel. Tarkin’s office was on the 19th floor, high enough above the outer wall that he had a clear view of the city sprawling out before him. Neon lights turned the night to yellow and pink and blue, and the white and red tail lights on speeders made a constant river of motion on the speederways. At times when Tarkin had most to think about, he would often stand in front of the windows and watch the city move in its intricate, multi-hued dance; something about it made the thoughts racing through his mind settle into neat avenues and paths, which Tarkin could follow more easily.

He moved to stand before the windows now, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders straight. The shifting shadows played across his sharp-angled face, transforming him into a gaunt, hollow-eyed ghost.

Just who was Leia Organa? That question sat squat and heavy foremost in Tarkin’s mind. According to the records he had pieced together that afternoon--it had taken him the better part of five hours to retrieve and decode them all, scattered and corrupted as each file had been, presumably in the wake of the Jedi Purge--the only Jedi in the history of the Temple who had had higher midichlorian counts were Anakin Skywalker and Yoda.

Most children of Jedi had high midichlorian counts, whether or not they were able to feel the Force. To Tarkin’s understanding, though, their counts usually fell somewhere between 5,000 and 9,000. Particularly powerful Jedi, like Obi-Wan Kenobi, were recorded as having over 13,000, while Anakin Skywalker--the most powerful Force user in existence, according to Jedi records--had had at least 20,000.

So who was Leia Organa? Was she the child of a powerful Force user like Kenobi? Or was she simply an enigma, like Anakin and Yoda?

Tarkin stroked his chin and watched the speederway that cut between the Palace wall and the first line of skyscrapers.

What would the best way be to tell the Emperor of his findings? Or should he? If he was able to train Leia in secret, she would become _his_ weapon, rather than the Emperor’s. With her at his side, and the Death Star under his control once it was finished, as Tarkin hoped it would be--construction was already under his authority, after all--he would be unstoppable. He could defeat Palpatine and seize the throne for himself.

But then, what if Palpatine discovered Tarkin’s duplicitousness? Twelfth Brother knew about her existence, and Tarkin was not sure how far his money would go toward ensuring the Inquisitor’s loyalty. All Inquisitors, as Tarkin well knew, were in some unknown way tethered and bound to the Emperor. Would the Emperor know that Twelfth Brother was hiding something? Would he be able to read Twelfth Brother’s thoughts and through that discover Leia’s existence?

Would he be able to do that to Tarkin?

Yes. That was a simple enough answer. Though he had had the same basic training in thought shielding as every Navy officer underwent, Tarkin knew that he had no special skill at it. The Emperor would barely need to press before he would discover Tarkin’s secret. And then where would Tarkin be? Dead, certainly; wishing for it before the end, almost certainly.

So Tarkin would tell the Emperor of Leia Organa’s Force Sensitivity. That left the question: How?

Tarkin turned away from the window and, pulling out his chair and leaning forward to flip on the lamp, sat at his desk. He drummed his fingers on the wooden surface for a moment, eyeing the datapads and flimsies scattered across it. He ignored them all, and instead pulled his computer towards himself, flipping open the lid and then putting in his password.

A quick search was all it took for him to find what he was searching for. He selected the first response, and a formal looking document appeared on the computer screen.

ADOPTION RECORD

SERIAL #: 342-ZW-3918

DATE:  3 Abrel, Year 31 of Queen Breha III’s Reign 

AUTHORIZING PERSONNEL:  Kara M. Metieen 

This document declares the adoption of (print name of Adopted)   Leia Amidala Organa  to (print name of Adoptees) Breha Organa and Bail Organa, from Underhill Orphanage.

This document is legally binding. The undersigned Adoptees, henceforth from  3 Abrel, Y31 Breha III , are the legal guardians of the Adopted.

Breha Organa                          Bail Organa  
(Signed)                                 (Signed)

There were three more pages after that, each with increasingly more specific details about the adoption--both about the adopted and the adoptees. Tarkin skimmed the information, filing the relevant tidbits, such as Leia’s date of birth--the same as Empire Day--and the orphanage she came from, away in his mind.

Nowhere did it say who her birth parents were.

Tarkin returned to the file database and made a second search. Then a third. Then a fourth. Still, he could find no reference anywhere of Leia Organa’s birth parents.

At last, frustrated, Tarkin pushed away the computer and sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him.

Either Bail and Breha Organa did not know who their daughter’s birth parents were, or they were hiding that fact from public knowledge. Regardless of which it was, though--and, annoyingly, Tarkin suspected he would never find out--it seemed that the only way he was going to get that information was from the DNA test he had instructed Tera to perform. What had at first seemed to be a redundant precaution now was his only source of finding out that critical information.

He checked his chrono. He had been in his office for nearly two hours--plenty of time for Tera to complete the blood work he had requested.

Tarkin had just stood up from his desk to go look for her when he heard a chime at his door. He sat back down, and for the second time that night he called, “Enter.”

As he had hoped, it was Tera.

She was pale, and as she crossed to her desk, Tarkin saw that she was trembling. She held a folded piece of flimsie in her hands.

“I have the results of the subject's DNA test.”

“And?” Tarkin prompted sharply when she hesitated.

“Look for yourself,” Tera said, and handed Tarkin the piece of flimsie.

He spread it out on his desktop and found that he himself was shaking ever so slightly. Was this excitement he was feeling? Fear?

The light pooled and reflected from the flimsie. For a second the dark print of the name was illegible--and then it wasn't.

Tarkin’s blood ran hot, then cold, then hot again.

 _No_ , he thought. _Surely not._

“You are sure this is accurate?” he asked Tera.

“Positive,” she said. “I checked it twice.”

Tarkin stared down at the names, and found that he was trembling again--this time with shock. Shock and something deeper: elation.

He had heard the rumors, of course. He had known the gossip. But to see the proof before him…

And still, the words burned in his eyes.

DNA TEST RESULTS 

DNA MATCH FOUND:

Anakin Skywalker, Father: 100%

Padmé Naberrie, Mother: 100%

Tarkin straightened. “Well done,” he said, and looked up at Tera. “Does anyone else know?”

“No,” Tera said softly, and shook her head. “Only me.”

“Good,” Tarkin said.

 _Very good_ , he thought. _There will be only one body to dispose of._

Unfortunately, he decided, Tera would have to die. There could be no one else who knew of Leia Organa’s true parentage. It was a shame, really--Tera had served him well. She was honest and loyal--to his money, if not to him--and now he would have to go through the long and arduous process of finding another doctor who was the right blend of willing to defy the Emperor, in thought if not in action, and greedy.

He would have it done tonight, once she returned to her apartment. A suicide was easy to fake.

“Thank you,” Tarkin said, smiling. “You have done well today. I will not forget your loyalty.”

Tera smiled in return. “Thank you, Moff,” she said.

“You’re dismissed,” Tarkin said. “Go home. Get some rest.”

Tera made half a bow. “Thank you,” she said again, and then turned to leave. She hesitated, then turned back. “Are you telling the Emperor?” she asked.

Tarkin’s smile remained firmly in place. “I will,” he said.

Tera nodded, and then left.

Tarkin waited for a moment, then opened his upper desk drawer. He pulled out a small comm. The voice, when the man on the other side answered, was gruff and thick with sleep.

“Yes, Moff?” the man asked.

“I have a job for you,” Tarkin said.

The sleep in the man’s voice vanished. “What do you need?”

“I need you to kill a woman named Tera Mardock. She’s a palace doctor. Make it look like a suicide.”

“I can do that,” the man said.

“Good,” Tarkin said. He added, “Do it quickly.”

“Consider it done,” the man said, and ended the call.

Tarkin put the comm. away, and settled back into his chair. He closed his eyes.

He had a lot of planning to do before the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I'd love to hear from you!


	6. Part 1: Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah, a new update! I'm doubly glad that I decided to split the last chapter into two, as this half of it clocked in at over 5.5k. That would have made for one longass chapter. Not a lot happens in this one, as with last chapter, but it is very important set-up for later things to come...so bear with me as we get through it. In fact, I hope you can find it in you to even enjoy it a little bit! If you do, I'd love to hear from you... please? Most importantly, though, is for you to enjoy it.

CHAPTER 5

The waiting room outside Emperor Palpatine’s office was both lavish and luxurious. Thick red carpets spread across the floor from wall to wall. Couches and armchairs ringed the room on two sides, and sat in groups of twos and threes, each of them a deep wine color with black and gold pillows. A large fireplace, which was currently unlit, filled half of the eastern wall; the hearth and mantlepiece were deep mahogany etched with gold. Gold filigree was inlaid onto each of the walls, painted wine to match the upholstery, sweeping in great arcs and curls from the ceiling. A gold and diamond chandelier hung in the middle of the room, casting a sharp but warm light that made the red glow. Two armed and armored Imperial Guards stood to either side of the door leading into the Emperor’s office.

Tarkin sat in a high-backed armchair, one leg crossed over the other, posture rigid and straight. His hands were clasped loosely in his lap, hiding the anxiety he felt. He had to play his cards perfectly—couldn’t make one single misstep, or he risked the Emperor punishing rather than rewarding him. He had, after all, used one of the Emperor’s guard dogs for his own purposes, and had paid a palace doctor to keep his secrets.

The doctor, at least, was taken care of. His man, Fire Fist—a gaudy, uncouth name, but the one he insisted to go by—had called him in the early hours before dawn to inform him that the deed was done. She would never be able to sell the secret of Leia Organa’s parents, and she wouldn’t be able to tell Palpatine—or his guards, or his torturers—that Tarkin had bribed her to work for him.

Twelfth Brother was more worrying. Tarkin would have to tread carefully with him, saying just enough to appease Palpatine’s curiosity, hiding enough that he would not wish to investigate further. For if Palpatine pressed against his mind with anything but the gentlest of touches, Tarkin feared he would discover the truth. 

No, he had to dance the perfect waltz—tell just enough truth that the Emperor did not detect his lies, but keep just enough back that the Emperor would not know of his secret dealings.

Again, Tarkin considered trying to train Leia in secret, to be his own weapon. But again he dismissed the idea. It was too dangerous for him. And the Emperor’s favor would be enough to offset the loss of the living weapon Leia Organa would become. Besides, he had no way to train a Force Sensitive.

No, he would tell Palpatine, as he had planned, and would reap the reward that Palpatine would offer for bringing him Anakin Skywalker’s daughter.

The door to Palpatine’s office opened, and Mas Amedda appeared. He gave Tarkin a cursory glance, which threatened to morph into a glare, then swept past, robes billowing. Tarkin watched him go, fighting to keep his expression placid. He disliked Amedda, just as Amedda disliked him.

The door closed, making the visible part of the Emperor’s study—a sliver of black carpet—disappear. Tarkin took a deep breath, and forced his shoulders to relax. It would do him no good to appear before the Emperor as tightly wound as a spring. He needed to be composed—confident and at ease.

It helped, Tarkin hoped, that Palpatine had known him since before the rise of the Empire. He had been one of Palpatine’s supporters since before he had claimed the title of Emperor. He had fought in Palpatine’s war, and brought victory after victory to the Republic’s credit. He had not been as close to Palpatine as some, such as Organa and Amidala, but he had been close enough to be invited to the then-Chancellor’s birthday gala the year before the Empire rose.

No, the Emperor would not be willing to grant him grace on the stands of a past not-quite friendship. But for Tarkin’s many years as a loyal servant, perhaps he would be willing to overlook a few errors in Tarkin’s judgment. Errors that Tarkin intended to continue to make—though the Emperor did not need to know that.

Tarkin just hoped that Palpatine would not employ the Force to read his mind.

Footsteps, muted by the carpet, approached Tarkin. He turned to find a tall human woman approaching. She wore a red dress that hugged her curves and accented the unnatural shade of red dyed into her blonde hair. She was, Tarkin thought, very beautiful. He suspected she knew that.

“The Emperor is ready to see you now,” she said. She smiled at him, and Tarkin smiled in return, though it did not mean what she thought it did.

“Thank you,” Tarkin said as he stood, the perfect model of gratitude. He graced her with one final smile, then turned and strode toward the door leading into the Emperor’s office. It opened as he neared—and then he was swallowed by the rich shadows of Palpatine’s lair.

It was as black as the waiting room was red, though the walls were painted silver. The sconces on the walls were black, letting only the faintest shade of light through, and the furniture was the color of obsidian: black desk, black chairs, black mantle on the fireplace to the right of the door. The main source of light was the wall of windows behind Palpatine’s desk, which overlooked the towering skyscrapers of the Business District near the Palace.

“Welcome, Wilhuff,” Palpatine said. He did not smile. “Sit.”

Tarkin obeyed with a bow. The leather of the seat across the desk from Palpatine creaked beneath his weight.

For a painful moment, there was only silence. Tarkin waited for Palpatine to speak, to give him some clue as to how to proceed; Palpatine waited, Tarkin assumed, for him to show his hand, expecting the silence to fray Tarkin’s nerves to breaking. Two, however, could play at that game.

At last, however, Tarkin relented. He did not think it wise to antagonize the Emperor of the galaxy.

“Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head in submission and respect, “I come bearing news I think you will find interesting.”

“You claimed it was more important than anything I would hear today—or so you told my secretary. Is this true, Wilhuff?”

“Yes,” Tarkin said without hesitation. “It is news that I believe, Your Grace, will change much.”

“Let us hear this news,” Palpatine said. He did not sound interested, merely bored with the proceedings. Tarkin was forced to grit his teeth, and struggle to keep his tone respectful.

“It has to do,” he said, “with Leia Organa.”

“Is that so?” Palpatine asked. For the first time, he seemed interested.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tarkin said.

“Tell me,” Palpatine commanded.

“Two weeks ago,” Tarkin said, “one of my spies reported an incident in the Organa household. He said it could have been explained by coincidence and a trick of physics—or, he said, it could have been an incident of the Force. Leia Organa fell fifteen feet from the bough of a tree, and landed on her feet. She was perfectly fine.  He was the only one to see the incident.”

Palpatine, who had leaned forward in his chair at the start of Tarkin’s account, sniffed and settled back into his large chair. “Leia Organa’s Force Sensitivity has already been investigated,” he said. “She is as Sensitive as her adopted father is. That is to say, as Sensitive as a rock.”

Tarkin struggled to keep from smiling. “Forgive me, Emperor,” he said, “but you are mistaken.

“I took the liberty of revealing my spy’s suspicions to one of your Inquisitors. Two nights ago, on the eve of the Winter Solstice, he went to check Leia’s midichlorian counts. What he discovered was not, as you said, the Force Sensitivity of a rock.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Your Grace, that Leia Organa registered as having a midichlorian count of nearly 6,000. But that, Your Grace, is not the end of my story.”

“Go on,” Palpatine said, leaning over his clasped hands.

“I had Leia brought to your Palace, and asked one of your doctors to attend to her. It was believed that she had been poisoned; she was indeed very ill when she was taken by the Inquisitor. It was discovered, however, during routine blood scans, that her midichlorian counts were rising.”

“What do you mean?” Palpatine asked sharply. “How is that possible?”

“We do not know for certain, but there was an unknown substance in her bloodstream that could have accounted for her lowered midichlorian levels. As the substance was flushed out, her midichlorian count rose; when the substance was flushed entirely, her count ceased to rise.”

“And how high is it?” Palpatine asked.

“15,000,” Tarkin said.

Palpatine sat back in his chair, his expression smooth and unreadable. “I see,” he said. “And where is Leia Organa now?”

“Still down in the Medical Wing,” Tarkin said. “But there is more.”

From beneath the cowl shadowing his face, Tarkin imagined Palpatine raising the memory of his eyebrows. “What else is there?” Palpatine asked.

“Her parents,” Tarkin said. “I know who they are.”

“And why does that concern me?” Palpatine asked.

“Because her parents were Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.”

Silence. Then, softly, the Emperor said, “You are certain of this?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Tarkin said. “The doctor checked it twice.”

“And who is this doctor?”

“Her name is Tera Mardock,” Tarkin said. “I told her not to tell anyone of what she discovered.”

There was another long period of silence in which Palpatine thought and Tarkin forced himself to remain still.  _ Let the Emperor digest this, _ he told himself.  _ You can’t rush him now. _

“This is, I take it,” Palpatine said at last, “the real cause behind Bail Organa’s death?”

The deaths of Bail Organa and his entire staff had been, as Tarkin had expected, headline news. Though he had mostly kept to himself in his office over the last day and a half, even Tarkin had felt the powerfully deep shock that had resonated through the city at news of Organa’s passing. That Leia, the beloved little princess, had been butchered beyond recognition made it all the worse.

Tarkin once again fought to keep from smiling. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said. “I sent my men to plant evidence of a coup. I doubted that you would want his death to be traced back to one of your Inquisitors.”

“And which Inquisitor was this?” Palpatine asked.

“Twelfth Brother,” Tarkin told him. “We have worked together in the past, and he was the only one I knew I could trust.”

“Indeed,” Palpatine replied, though Tarkin suspected he hardly knew what word he had said. He was thinking again—was lost deep in his thoughts. What those thoughts were, Tarkin wished he knew.

“The Inquisitor believed,” Tarkin said carefully after a moment, “that Organa knew his daughter was Force Sensitive, and that he had been hiding her. I can’t help but wonder now, knowing how hard he tried to keep her from being taken, if he knew of her parentage as well. He was, after all, close to Amidala.”

“Indeed,” Palpatine said again.

He was silent for a moment, then, softly, he said, “Well done, Wilhuff.”

This time, Tarkin allowed himself to smile. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said.

“Where, exactly, is Leia?”

“I can take you to her, if you’d like,” Tarkin said.

Palpatine rose. “Then do so,” he ordered.

“Now?” Tarkin asked, somewhat taken aback. He had expected Palpatine would want to think longer on the matter.

“Now,” Palpatine said sharply.

Tarkin stood quickly. “Of course, Your Grace,” he said. He skirted his chair too quickly and bumped his knee against it. A sharp pain lanced through it, and Tarkin clenched his teeth to keep from cursing.

Palpatine laughed, high and mocking. Again, Tarkin gritted his teeth—this time to keep from growling. 

“I did not think, Wilhuff, that you are one of my subjects who scurries to do my bidding,” Palpatine said, rounding his desk.

“I do not scurry,” Tarkin said, bridling the venom threatening to creep into his voice. He clenched his hands together behind his back tight enough to dig crescents into his palms with his nails. “I do, however, understand the value of acting promptly when my Emperor asks something of me.”

Palpatine laughed again. “That’s the Wilhuff I know.”

Tarkin took a step forward, trying to ignore Palpatine’s last comment. “If Your Grace will follow me?” he said, and then led the way out of the office.

~oOo~

The time crawled by with excruciating slowness. Leia slept in fitful bursts, waking whenever one of the Stormtroopers shifted, or when the woman came in to draw her blood. She counted the tiles on the ceiling five more times before giving up out of boredom, and started imagining ways in which she could escape the room. They ranged from the practical, like dislocating her thumbs—she had heard of criminals doing that to free themselves—to the fanciful, like using the fabled Jedi’s Force to open the binders. Twice the Stormtroopers unhooked the binders from her wrists and escorted her to a small bathroom a few doors down the hall. Leia thought about trying to escape then, but the only door to the bathroom was the one she’d come in through, and at least one of the Stormtroopers kept a hold of her the entire time they were in the corridor.

Then the woman stopped coming.

At first Leia had thought that she was just bored, and that time had seemed to stretch out into infinity because of that boredom. Once the Stormtroopers at her door switched places with two new Troopers, however, Leia began to suspect that her perception of time had been right—that the infinity she had felt really  _ had  _ been a long while.

The last thing the woman had done was draw two fresh vials of blood from the crook of her arm, and then performed a physical. She had shone a light in Leia’s eyes and ears and nose, had tested her autonomic responses, had ordered Leia to grip her fingers as tightly as she could, had listened to Leia’s heart and lungs. Leia had made it as difficult for her as possible, sighing while she tried to listen to her chest, slumping back against the pillow when she wanted her to sit up straight, yelling in her face when she tried to look in Leia’s mouth.

“Just tell me who you are,” Leia had said, plaintive and pleading. “If you do, I promise I’ll behave.”

The woman did not tell her who she was.

Finally, the woman had finished and, packing up her supplies, including the two vials of blood, had left. That was the last time Leia had seen her.

Leia sighed and, as she had done every few minutes for the past hour, tugged fruitlessly at the cuffs binding her hands to the bed rails. As always they clattered and clinked, but did not give. Her wrists ached, the pain a dark shade of purple as it crept through her flesh and down to her bones. Even so, Leia gave another tug—and then flopped down with a second sigh.

She sat up again an instant later as the door opened. She looked toward it, expecting to see the woman. 

It wasn’t her.

Leia had only met the Emperor twice: once when she was a baby—he had asked her mother and father to present her to the Imperial court, purportedly in order to further legitimize her claim to the Alderaanian throne—and once when she was six and the Emperor and his entourage had come to stay on Alderaan for a weekend. Even so, she remembered what he looked like; she would know him anywhere.

He entered now, followed by Tarkin and two red-dressed Imperial Guards. The Emperor’s face was shadowed by a cowl, his frail body draped with a long, flowing, black robe. His hands were tucked into the broad, bell-cut sleeves, and he moved with slow, but purposeful, intent.

Stopping and turning once he was inside, the Emperor raised a hand to the two Stormtroopers standing guard at the door. “You are dismissed,” he said, waving his hand. They both saluted, then filed out of the room, giving their places to the two Imperial Guards.

Then the Emperor turned toward Leia. She stiffened, going rigid and frozen at the sharp feel of his eyes on her. She imagined them like embers, burning in the darkness beneath his cowl, and she shivered at the sensation of them on her—felt them like a real and living thing caressing her face, her shoulders, her chest.

“Leia Organa,” the Emperor said. His voice was thin and raspy; to Leia it sounded like a nail scraping against duracrete. “Do you know who you are?”

The question was strange to Leia. She frowned. “I’m Leia Organa,” she said.

“But  _ who are you _ ?” 

Leia shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “I’m the Princess of Alderaan,” she said, not sure what the Emperor was asking.

“And is that all?” 

“Yes?” Leia said, but it was a question.

The Emperor walked toward her, his gait measured and controlled. He seemed like a snake to Leia, moving with coiled, deadly precision, full of rippling muscles and the promise of venom if she dared get too close. She shrank back, pulling at the cuffs binding her to the bed.

Halting, the Emperor looked at her again. Leia wondered if his eyes had ever left her.

“You truly believe that?” the Emperor asked, voice low and alluring in its softness. “That all you are is Princess of Alderaan?”

“Yes,” Leia said, stouter than she felt. “What else would I be?”

Beneath his cowl, the Emperor smiled. “So much, my dear,” he told her. “So very, very much.

“Are these binders really necessary?” the Emperor asked. He reached out and ran a wrinkled fingertip over the back of Leia’s hand, then up the length of the chain to the cuff hooked around the bedside railing. He flicked his fingers, and with a  _ pop _ the binders sprang open and fell to the floor with a clatter.

Leia pulled her hands to her chest, rubbing her wrists. They smarted and burned all in one, and looking down at them Leia saw the ugly purple of a deep bruise already blossoming beneath her skin.

“I trust,” the Emperor said, just as soft as before, “that you will not need the binders to stay put?”

Leia looked at him, and thought,  _ I’m not going to promise that. _ She had to escape—had to find Aunt Mon or Master Carlist or someone else who would help her—and promising to stay put would hamper that escape.

Beneath his cowl, the Emperor frowned. Leia saw the tightening of his chin, felt the strain of emotion gather around him like a cloud. She did not have time to wonder at her ability to feel that, however, before a narrow band of invisible power tightened around her throat, cinching her windpipe closed.

Leia panicked.

She clawed at her throat, fingers ripping through the invisible band without touching it. Her nails scratched long, shallow furrows into her skin. They bled long streams of scarlet, staining the collar of the white cotton shirt she wore. And still the band constricted.

She gasped, dark shadows climbing along the edges of her vision, encroaching closer and closer with every second. Lights popped behind her eyes, and her muscles strained as she fought to drag in breath. 

_ I’m going to die _ . The thought flashed through her mind, half-formed and half-forgotten as soon as it was gone.

And then, just as suddenly as the band had appeared, it was gone.

Leia gasped, coughing and blinking against the receding shadows. She dragged in one, two, three deep lungfuls of air, and clutched at her neck, bleeding fitfully.

The Emperor smiled at her kindly, though his tone carried beneath its softness a hard chill. “I hope you won’t try to defy me again, Leia Organa.”

Leia shook her head.

“I trust,” the Emperor said, even softer—and even more dangerous, Leia realized now—than before, “that you will not need the binders to stay put?”

Again, Leia shook her head.

“Good girl,” the Emperor said, and Leia could feel his amusement and his pleasure.

The Emperor turned. “Come, Tarkin,” he said, passing by the Moff. He didn’t even look at him. “We have much to discuss.”

Tarkin bowed. “As you say, Your Grace,” he said, and followed the Emperor out of the room.

~oOo~

Some time later the door opened again, and a red-clad Imperial Guard entered the room. Leia sat up and looked at him with unhappy eyes, absent-mindedly rubbing her wrists, which still ached terribly.

“Come with me,” the Imperial Guard said. His voice came out all harsh edges and sharp consonants, each syllable highly modulated by the mask covering his face.

Leia slid off of the bed and onto wobbly legs. For a second her knees threatened to buckle and her feet tried to give out, numb and cold as they were. Leia caught herself on the end of the bed and gripped at the sheets with fingers of desperation, not wanting to fall on her face—especially in front of the intimidating Guard.

After a minute, Leia straightened, and tried to take one, then two tentative steps. Her feet held her, and her knees did not give way, despite the wash of pins and needles prickling up and down her legs. Leia gritted her teeth and forced herself to take another step, then another.

A hand closed around her upper left arm and Leia jerked, surprised. She looked up to see the Imperial Guard standing over her, face mask unreadable.

“Come,” he growled, and nearly yanked her off her feet as he started walking.

Leia half-ran, half-stumbled after the Guard out the door and down the hall. A light flickered overhead, causing Leia to shiver; accompanied by the cold floor and the sound of a far-distant drip of water from a leaky pipe, the whole place had a very unused, forgotten feel. That meant she was forgotten—or as good as forgotten—didn’t it? And how would Master Carlist or Aunt Mon or anyone else find her then?

They rode up a lift in silence, the Guard’s hand still fastened around Leia’s upper arm. She squirmed in his grasp, trying to break free—but he only tightened his fingers into a bruising grip, a silent warning to be still. Leia obeyed, feeling her heart beat thunderously in her throat. Never before had anyone dared to harm her—and if they had by accident, they had apologized immediately, and begged for her forgiveness. Now this Guard was hurting her and seemed uncaring and unrepentant. That, more than the actual bruising pain itself, frightened Leia.

The lift doors opened, and the Guard dragged her out and down a long, gently sloping corridor. At the end were two great doors that stood at least four times Leia’s height, made of what looked to be black, shining rock. Gold inlays edged the door and wrapped around the two metal handles in shapes of twining vipers and twisting eels. Four red Imperial Guards stood to either side of the doors, vibrospears in hand.

Leia shivered, and this time it had nothing to do with the cold tiles against her bare feet.

The Guard holding her saluted the eight Guards standing at the door as they approached. The Guards saluted back, and then the two innermost stepped forward and, each gripping a metal handle, drew open the doors with a long, low groan.

“Stand up straight,” the Guard escorting Leia growled. 

He released her arm then, and pushed her forward. Leia stumbled, catching herself only just in time to keep from tumbling to the hard ground, and took three quick, staccato steps to keep her balance. And, just like that, she was in the throne room.

The one and only time she had been in the throne room was as a baby. Her mother used to tell the story of how she had squalled all through the ceremony of presentation, reaching a fevered peak when the Emperor himself had descended from his throne to hold the newborn Leia in his hands. “You worked yourself up to such a degree,” her mother would say, and when they were alone in Leia’s room her mother would allow herself a small laugh, “that you threw up on the Emperor’s robes. He was furious, but half the galaxy was watching, and so he could do nothing about it but hand you back to me.”

Now, seeing the throne room for what felt like the first time, Leia did not blame her younger self for having squalled.

It was a terrifying place. The ceiling arched so high above her head that the rafters were lost to view, and the scarlet banners emblazoned with the Imperial Crest that hung from them wafted gently in an unseen and unfelt breeze. Pillars made from the same black material as the doors, marched down the full length of the great room to either side flanking the crimson carpet that stretched to the dais on the far end of the room. The floor was made of black marble whorled with gold, which matched the curling etchings sweeping down the sides of the pillars. The dais was made from obsidian, as was the throne sitting upon it.

The throne itself was a nightmare to behold. Huge, made of sharp lines and sharper edges, blanketed with a rich, red throw, it almost seemed to swallow the man sitting upon it—almost. Instead, it seemed to center the entire gravitas of the room upon the Emperor, leading every eye and every heart to him, seated above them in every way.

The throne room now was filled with an uncertain smattering of men and women. Half of them were dressed in the smart grey uniform of Imperial officers, the rank insignias on their lapels showing them to be Grand Admirals and Grand Moffs stationed on Coruscant—the most important of the most important. The rest of the occupants were dressed in varying kinds of leather armor, all dark in color, all seeming to have been made by the same armorer, for all their differences. On their hips hung lightsabers.

“Kneel,” the Guard escorting Leia hissed as they reached the foot of the dais, and he pushed her down to her knees. Leia went without protest, biting her tongue as her knees banged against the floor, fighting to keep tears from springing to her eyes.

“Welcome, my child,” the Emperor said from his throne. Looking up at him, Leia could see beneath his cowl—could see the crooked smile pulling the corners of his mouth up into a scythe. The sight made her skin crawl.

Around her, the others in the throne room tightened together and moved forward, closer to the dais. They knew now what they had been waiting for. They stayed well clear of Leia and her Guard, however, giving them a wide berth.

“Tell us, child,” the Emperor said, breaking the glass-like stillness of the throne room. “What is your name?”

Leia swallowed, and glanced up at the Guard standing behind her. He did not move.

“Tell us, child,” the Emperor encouraged. His tone was kind and friendly—his most dangerous tone, as Leia had learned earlier.

“Leia,” she said, her voice sounding very small, as if it had been swallowed by the vast room.

“And what’s your last name, little Leia?” the Emperor asked, still just as friendly.

“Organa.”

The Emperor’s smile grew. “That’s not your birth name, though, is it, little Leia Organa?”

Leia frowned. “Yes,” she said. “Mamá and Papá…” She trailed off, seeing again flowers drenched in blood.

“Yes, little Leia? What were you going to say about your Mamá and Papá?” the Emperor encouraged, still sounding friendly and kind.

Leia glanced around at the Grand Admirals and Moffs surrounding her. Most of them quickly averted their eyes, though some few stared openly at her, confusion and curiosity in turn written in their faces. None of them, however, offered her any help.

“They gave me their name,” Leia said, looking back up at the Emperor and reciting what her parents had told her ever since she was old enough to understand. “When they adopted me, they gave me their name.”

The Emperor’s smile grew. “So you know you are adopted, then?” he asked.

“Yes,” Leia said, hesitant. She did not know why, but this line of questioning made her very uneasy.

“And do you know who your birth parents were, little Leia?” the Emperor wanted to know.

Leia shook her head.

“Would you like to?”

Again Leia looked around her. This time only a few averted their gaze. As before, however, none offered her any help.

“Well, little Leia?” the Emperor asked.

Leia shook her head again. “I don’t think so,” she said.

The Emperor’s smile slipped an inch. “Well I would like to tell you,” he said. “Your birth mother was named Padmé Amidala. And your birth father was named Anakin Skywalker.”

A sudden, quiet rush of sound whispered out from those surrounding Leia. She turned to look at them, surprised, and saw that many of them were murmuring to each other. They seemed shocked, she thought—shocked, and something else she could not name.

Leia herself was surprised as well, though she had no one to whisper to. Her mother and father had both told her tales of the brave Senator from Naboo, and many of her bedtime stories had been about the famous Anakin Skywalker, his padawan Ahsoka Tano, and his former master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as polite as she could be, “but I think you must have made a mistake.” 

All of the murmuring around her went silent, as if murdered.

The Emperor’s smile slid another inch. “Oh? And how is that, little Leia?” he asked.

“I can’t be Anakin Skywalker’s daughter.”

“And why not?” the Emperor asked.

“Because,” Leia said, floundering, “because Jedi couldn’t have attachments.” That was something else her father had told her—that Jedi were forbidden to love. Leia had always thought that was very sad.

“Anakin Skywalker broke that rule,” the Emperor said dismissively. “You are the result of that taboo.”

Again Leia shook her head, but did not speak.

The Emperor leaned forward in his throne, elbows braced against the armrests. “Search your heart, little Leia,” he said. “You know what I am saying to be true.”

“No,” Leia said. But even as she spoke, something in her—something dark, something secret, something she had long known existed but had ever since ignored because she could tell it frightened her mother and father—rebelled. The word twisted in her mouth, turning bitter and sour. Something buried in her chest constricted, turning hard and black. A voice, silent and sinuous, whispered,  _ No. It is right. You are the daughter of Anakin Skywalker and Padmé  Amidala. _

“I—” Leia began, then faltered. “But it…”

The Emperor smiled, and rose.

“Hear me, my faithful subjects,” he said, raising his voice to address all in the throne room. “The daughter of Anakin Skywalker will be trained in the arts of the Sith. She will be a great weapon for the Empire, and under her hand and heel my rule will be established for generations to come. She will be the greatest among you, and the most feared.” The Emperor smiled then, and added, “But you alone as yet know of her existence. Keep her life a secret, and you shall all be rewarded richly upon her ascension to my right hand. Tell anyone else, and you—and all you told—shall die a painful death. Am I understood?”

Bows, and a low murmur of, “Yes, Your Grace,” rose from the crowd.

Leia stared up at the Emperor. What did all that mean? What—or who—were the Sith? Her father had always told her that they had been defeated at the end of the Clone War by Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker—her father. And why would the Emperor think she would hurt anyone? That was what he had implied, wasn’t it? And more than that, she didn’t  _ want  _ to be feared.

The murmuring silenced as the Emperor raised his hands. “Bow, now,” he commanded, “to my new Right Hand.”

Around her, the men and women all bowed. It took Leia a frightening second to realize that they were bowing to  _ her _ , even the Guard still standing at her shoulder.

_ No _ , she wanted to say.  _ Stop. _ She had been bowed to before—had been bowed to since before she could remember—but never before had it felt like this. Then it had been an act done in honor and delight. Now, though, it felt like a mockery, like a flower hiding a poisoned thorn.

She opened her mouth to speak—and stopped. She felt the Emperor’s eyes on her, and she shivered again in spite of herself. She hated the feeling of his gaze; it felt like oil and like snakes, like tar and like venom.

“Learn well, little Leia,” the Emperor said, his voice suddenly so soft that Leia barely heard him. He seemed to be speaking only to her. “Your life depends on it.”

He nodded, and the Imperial Guard standing behind her grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. He led her down the red carpet to the double doors, which opened at their approach, and brought her back to the room she had awakened in. Hoisting her up, he placed her on the bed and fastened one of the two binders back around her wrist, sealing her there.

Then he left without a word, leaving Leia very much alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Want me to write super duper fast and get the next chapter out in the next week? Tell me what you thought!


	7. Part 1: Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me getting another chapter up! Thank you so much (again) to everyone who reviewed. You really made my week! 
> 
> Huge, huge thanks to my betas, tumblr users absynthe--minded and princess-sansa-of-ithilien (and sorry for forgetting to mention y'all before >.>"). Without you this fic wouldn't be what it is.

CHAPTER 6

The next week passed in a blur of boredom for Leia.

The morning after the strange events in the throne room, an Imperial Guard arrived and unlocked the binder holding her to the bed. Leia, groggy and still half-asleep, did not protest when the Guard lifted her down from the bed and proceeded to push her out the door and down the hall. The Guard did not speak, even when Leia asked where they were going. He only grunted once, and cuffed Leia on the side of the head, silencing her.

She was brought to another medical room five floors up. It was nearly identical to the room she had awakened in, but for the fact that all the lights in the hall outside her door were working, and there was no sound of leaky pipes. The bed was also slightly bigger, and had a reclining back—though the control was taken from her almost as soon as she was lifted onto it. The Guard produced another binder and, fastening it first around Leia’s wrist, locked her to the bedside railing. Leia sighed and frowned, tugging uselessly at the binder in the vain hope that this one would be weaker.

Time was a very nebulous thing for Leia, stretching and shrinking and passing with varying swiftness. She was brought food three times a day, and she was escorted to the ‘fresher twice—once after breakfast and once after dinner. Other than that, however, the only way for Leia to track how much time had passed was by the changing of the Stormtrooper guard, which stood just inside the door of her room.

A doctor came in after breakfast on the second day. He was dressed in a flowing white coat over a blue tunic and black breeches, a stylus trapped behind his right ear. He was handsome, Leia thought, with dark hair and blue eyes and a chin trimmed with a sharply cut beard. His voice was rich and soft.

Leia thought that maybe—just maybe—this was a man she could trust.

“How are you feeling today, Leia?” the man asked, smiling.

“I’m okay,” Leia said, looking up at him with a tentative smile of her own.

“Good,” the man said, rich and warm. “My name is Dr. Ammit.”

“Nice to meet you,” Leia said, trying to be polite. This was the first time someone had been kind to her since the Twelfth Brother took her, and she wanted to be as nice and good as possible in the hope that he would continue being kind. _Maybe_ , Leia dared to hope, _he’ll help me._

“Let’s get that binder off of you,” Dr. Ammit said. He reached out, a key in hand, and tapped it against the binder latched around Leia’s left wrist. It popped open, and Leia stretched and clenched her hand, feeling the blood rush into it. She was careful not to rub it, however, as two long, ugly sores had appeared where the cuff had chafed against her skin.

“Thank you,” she said with another smile for Dr. Ammit.

“Can you stand for me?” he asked.

Leia climbed off the bed and stood shakily. Her feet were cold and numb from disuse, but they held her up—a fact for which she was grateful. She remembered almost falling the last time she had stood, a cramp unexpectedly seizing the muscle in her right calf.

“Very good,” Dr. Ammit said, and he smiled at Leia again. “Let’s go for a walk.”

They walked up and down the long corridor outside Leia’s room, the two Stormtroopers that had been standing guard at Leia’s door flanking them. Leia’s legs were shaky, and she stumbled a couple of times, Dr. Ammit’s steadying hand the only thing keeping her from falling down.

“I’m sorry,” Leia said, the second time it happened. “I don’t usually trip.”

“It’s okay, Leia,” Dr. Ammit said reassuringly. “Your body is still recovering from being poisoned, and you’ve spent a lot of time just sitting. It’s only natural for your coordination to be affected.”

Leia frowned, unconvinced. She had long been regarded as graceful, and that was something she was proud of. She wasn’t supposed to trip over smooth tiled floors.

They returned to her room, and Dr. Ammit ran a few tests, taking her blood and listening to her heart and lungs. Unlike with the woman doctor—who Leia hadn’t seen in days—Leia cooperated with Dr. Ammit.

He finished, and had turned to leave, when Leia grabbed the sleeve of his lab coat. “Dr. Ammit?” she asked quietly. “Will you do something for me?”

“What is it?” Dr. Ammit asked.

“Will you call Mon Mothma or Carlist Rieekan and tell them where I am? I’m sure they’re worried.”

Dr. Ammit smiled. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised.

Leia leaned back against her pillows with a sigh and a smile. Aunt Mon or Master Carlist would be coming for her soon, and then this nightmare would be over. She just had to wait a little longer.

~oOo~

Dr Ammit returned each day after breakfast. He walked with Leia—first just up and down the one hall, then on longer walks throughout the Medical Wing—and they talked. Leia tripped less and less each day, and though her legs cramped twice more, each time was less severe than the one before.

“Why didn’t I trip before?” Leia asked the third day, frustrated. “Back when I was taken to the throne room.” She had almost fallen again, her legs unexpectedly buckling. She also felt dizzy and lightheaded, and was mildly nauseous. The nausea had been a slowly growing thing, the food she ate each day knotting into a little ball in the pit of her stomach.

“You were afraid,” Dr. Ammit said. “Or at least, I suspect you were afraid. I know I’m always afraid when I have to go before the Emperor. I think you were probably in what we call “Survival Mode”. You were running on adrenaline and fear, which both provide strength and resilience, and kept your body from failing on you. I believe you’re more comfortable now, though, meaning your body is more willing to listen to its weakness.”

Leia sighed, irritated. “I guess,” she muttered. She was still annoyed.

“You were poisoned, Leia,” Dr. Ammit reminded her. “Even if it’s gone from your system, there are going to be lasting effects.”

“Oh,” Leia said. She hadn’t thought of it that way.

“You’ll be better soon,” Dr. Ammit assured her. “You get stronger every day.”

Leia nodded. “I just want it to be done now,” Leia said. “I’m tired of feeling bad.”

“I know. It’s going to be okay.”

Every day, after Dr. Ammit drew her blood and listened to her lungs and heart, Leia asked him about Aunt Mon and Master Carlist.

“I’m working on it,” Dr. Ammit said each day, with a reassuring smile and a squeeze of Leia’s hand.

On the twelfth day, however, his face fell at her question. The ball in Leia’s stomach—which had continued to grow each day, despite her returning strength—tightened, and Leia swallowed uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry, Leia,” he said. “But both Carlist Rieekan and Mon Mothma said they didn’t want you.”

Leia looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. “But—but no,” she cried. “No, I know that’s not what they said. Aunt Mon promised Papá that she’d take care of me if anything happened to him. I know—they told me that!”

Dr. Ammit shook his head. “I’m sorry, Leia,” he said. “I talked to her yesterday. She said she wanted to cede her custody to the Emperor.”

Leia shook her head. “But what about Master Carlist?” she asked. “Didn’t he want me?”

“He said he’s too busy to take come for you.”

“But what about when he’s not busy?”

It was Dr. Ammit’s turn to shake his head. “I’m sorry, Leia,” he said again. “I know this is hard to hear. But they don’t want you. They made that perfectly clear to me.”

“No,” Leia said, shaking her head even harder. “No!” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, then spilled down over her cheeks. “No, they said...they said they loved me.”

Dr. Ammit sat down on the edge of her bed and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay, Leia,” he said soothingly. “You have me. You have the Emperor.”

“But I don’t want the Emperor,” Leia sobbed. “I want Aunt Mon. I want Master Carlist.”

Dr. Ammit rubbed circles down Leia’s back and let her cry. “I’m going to give you a mild sedative,” he said at last, as Leia’s tears began to abate. “It will help you sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Leia sniffed and rubbed her nose and cheeks with the back of her free hand. “I don’t want to sleep,” she said miserably.

“It will help,” Dr. Ammit promised. “I’ll be right back.”

He returned a moment later carrying a hypo. “Shhh,” he murmured when Leia tried to jerk away. “This is going to help,” he said again, and pressed the hypo against Leia’s neck. There was a _snick_ and a _hiss_ , and Leia felt the cold rush of sedative beneath her skin.

She blinked. It was suddenly very hard for her to keep her eyes open. Then there was a hand on her shoulder, guiding her down to her pillow.

“Sleep, Leia,” Dr. Ammit said softly. “You’ll feel better when you wake.”

Leia slept.

~oOo~

Dr. Amareus Ammit looked down at the sleeping girl and, for a fraction of a second, felt a flash of pity for her, and guilt for what he was doing. But then it was gone, buried beneath his fear and loyalty to his Emperor.

“Sleep well, little Leia,” he said softly. “You aren’t going to have much more of this for a very long time.”

He turned and, nodding to the Stormtroopers at the door, left the room. He had a meeting with the Emperor in two hours—which would be just enough time to finish his latest report on the girl.

His office, as the Emperor’s Chief Medical Officer, was in the corner of the top floor of the Medical Wing. Windows formed two walls, filling the room with daylight and, on the many nights he worked long after dark, a fantastic view of the city’s nightlife. A couch sat in the corner formed by the windows, the rich blue blanket thrown over the back a sharp contrast to the dark mahogany wood of the coffee table in front of it. His desk sat in the corner opposite the couch, angled so that it formed a triangular space between it and the walls—plenty of space for the high-backed, cushioned chair. Bookshelves, filled with ancient tomes of medicine and newer stacks of datapads, lined the walls to the left of the desk and opposite it, surrounding the door.

Amareus sat at his desk and sighed. Though it was a constant in his life as a doctor, he hated paperwork. It almost made him wish for his days as a surgeon in the Clone War—then he had only had death certificates to fill out.

He shook his head at his own folly. His days as a surgeon had been the worst of his life, for all that some things were simpler. He still had nightmares about the blood and violence he had seen, and he wouldn’t go back to being a woman if his life depended on it.

Out of habit, he touched the hormone implant embedded in the crook of his elbow. It was a small lump just beneath his skin, and it rolled as he pressed on it. The feeling was comforting, a reminder of who he was now, and who he no longer had to be.

Dragging his thoughts back to the matter at hand, Amareus booted on his computer and turned to the task of writing up a detailed report of the day’s events with Leia. _I believe she is now susceptible to accepting her place under Emperor Palpatine’s control_ , he concluded. _She is ready for the next stage of conditioning._

He saved the file to his personal datapad, checked the time, and rose. It was time for him to meet with the Emperor.

Ten minutes later he was seated in the Emperor’s office. They had met daily since the announcement of Leia’s parentage. It was a time to discuss her progress, her mental state, and to plan for her future.

“How was our little girl today?” Palpatine asked, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers before him, elbows on his chair’s armrests.

“I told her that Mon Mothma and Carlist Rieekan abandoned her, as per your instructions,” Amareus said. “She cried herself almost to exhaustion, and then I gave her a sedative to sleep. She should be unconscious for at least twelve hours.”

“Good,” the Emperor said. Then again, “Good. And before that?”

“She grows stronger by the day, though the guards tell me that she has nearly stopped eating. When I asked her about it, she just said that she wasn’t feeling well.”

“I see,” said the Emperor. “Do you have any theories?”

“It could be anxiety,” Amareus said. “Or it could be a latent effect of the poison. There’s no real way to know.”

The Emperor nodded. “But you say she grows stronger?”

Amareus nodded. “She should be ready to begin training by the end of the week, if her progress continues as it has.”

“Good,” said the Emperor again.

There was a pause, pregnant and expectant, full of the spirals of half-formed thoughts and words unsaid. Amareus watched the Emperor, seeing the darkness in his eyes, the cruel curl of his lips. Again Amareus wondered if he had been wrong to swear his loyalty to this man; he knew what Palpatine was, and what Palpatine was capable of. Even so, it was Palpatine who had made him so much more than a simple field surgeon, who had raised him out of the perdition of blood and death. Palpatine had given him hope and purposeagain—had even given him new life, as the man he had always been. Ever since then, Amareus had sworn his loyalty to him—and even if he disagreed with some of Palpatine’s choices, that loyalty remained fast and true.

“I will go see her tomorrow,” the Emperor said at last. “I think it is time that Leia Organa and I had another chat.”

“As you say, Emperor,” Amareus said. He hesitated, then asked, “Would you like me to accompany you?”

The Emperor nodded. “Yes. She trusts you.”

Again, Amareus felt a flash of pity toward the girl, chased quickly by a pang of guilt. He was party to the destroying of this girl’s life and soul. Should that not at least merit some form of sorrow?

But this girl would glorify the Empire, Amareus knew, built in the Emperor’s image. She would cement his rule over the galaxy’s fringe worlds, bringing the Outer Rim—and the Hutts controlling them—to heel. She would be the Emperor’s Right Hand. And that, Amareus knew, would be worth the shattering of her innocence.

No, for all his feelings of pity and guilt, Amareus believed he was doing the right thing.

“I visit her after breakfast,” he said. “Will you go to her then?”

“Yes,” the Emperor said. Then he smiled. “I will see you in the morning then, Amareus.”

Amareus stood and bowed. “As my Emperor commands.” And, turning, he left the office.

~oOo~

Leia woke slowly, groggy and cotton-headed. She blinked grainy eyes and sat up gingerly, the world—white and cold and sterile—oozing around her. Her stomach clenched, the knot twisting like a knife in her belly, and for a long second Leia thought she would throw up. Then the moment passed, and she slumped back against her pillow. Memory rose unbidden and unwanted, and Leia brought her free hand up to press against her stinging eyes.

 _They don’t want me_ , she thought. Tears seeped out from beneath Leia’s hand, trickling down the sides of her face to wet her hair. _They said they loved me, but they didn’t. They don’t._

_They’re not going to save me._

She had held so tightly to that hope that Aunt Mon or Master Carlist would come for her that, now that it was gone, she felt empty and cold. It was like a light in her chest had gone out, leaving everything dark and barren.

 _Will I be in this room forever?_ Leia wondered. _Is this going to be my life now?_

She thought about that—thought about growing old locked to the bed’s railing, her only moments of freedom when Dr. Ammit came and walked with her through the white, cold halls. Though even then, Leia realized, she wasn’t really free; the Stormtroopers always accompanied them, ever-present with the clack of their metal boots against the floor tiles.

Leia pressed her hand harder into her eyes, trying to stifle the tears.

 _No,_ she thought. _I won’t cry. I’m done crying. I have Dr. Ammit now. He’ll help me. He said he would._

Resolute, Leia sniffed and sat back up, smearing her tears away with her free hand. She looked toward the door and wondered what time it was—and how long it would be until breakfast. She was hungry, if only a little bit, the first faint pains creeping out from the knot in her stomach.

It felt like forever—but was probably less than an hour—before the door opened and Dr. Ammit entered, carrying a tray.

“Good morning, Leia,” he said with a warm smile, coming over to the bed and setting the tray down on Leia’s lap. “I hope you’re feeling better?”

“I am,” Leia lied, forcing herself to smile up at her friend.

He sat down beside her and produced a skinned meiloorun. “I hope you don’t mind if I eat with you?” he asked.

Leia shook her head, then added, “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” Dr. Ammit said, and took a bite out of the juicy fruit.

Leia turned her attention to her own breakfast. It was oatmeal, brown with sugar and studded with raisins and nuts. Leia picked up her spoon and took a tentative bite. She had never been a fan of oatmeal, disliking the texture of the cooked oats—but she quickly took a second bite, then a third, to her surprise finding it delicious.

“How are you feeling, Leia?” Dr. Ammit asked after a few minutes of silent chewing. His voice was somber and serious, and he looked at her long and hard, as if he could strip away her words and flesh and find the answer in her bones.

Leia shrugged. Dr. Ammit continued to look at her, and Leia shifted slightly under his gaze, uncomfortable. Then, very suddenly, she blurted out, “Am I going to be in here for the rest of my life?”

“What?” Dr. Ammit asked.

“In here,” Leia said, gesturing around the room with her spoon. “Am I going to stay here forever?”

Dr. Ammit laughed. Leia, affronted, glared at him. “It’s not funny!” she protested.

“No, I’m sure it’s not,” Dr. Ammit said, quieting. He was still smiling, however. “To answer your question, though, no. You’re not going to stay here forever. Just until you’re better. I thought you knew that.”

Leia frowned and looked down, jabbing at what was left of her oatmeal. “How long is that?”

“A few days, I think,” Dr. Ammit said.

“Then what?”

Dr. Ammit was suddenly very serious. “It’s not my place to say,” he told her.

“Will you come with me?” Leia asked, looking up at him through her lashes.

“I’ll be around,” Dr. Ammit said.

Leia didn’t like that answer. “That’s not a yes,” she said, accusing.

“No,” Dr. Ammit admitted, smiling ruefully. “But it’s not a ‘no’ either.”

“I guess,” Leia said. She sighed.

“Leia,” Dr. Ammit said, leaning forward. He had finished his meiloorun. “There’s someone very important who’s coming to see you today. He’s a very good friend of mine, and I want you to listen to what he has to say. Okay?”

Leia, confused suddenly wary, nodded. “Okay,” she said.

Dr. Ammit smiled. “Good girl,” he said, patting her knee. “Are you done with your breakfast?”

Leia nodded, and shoved the tray away. Dr. Ammit picked it up and carried it over to one of the Stormtroopers.

“Take this down to the kitchens, would you?” he asked.

“My orders—”

“I am aware of your orders,” Dr. Ammit said, smoothly cutting in. “But _I_ am asking you to take this tray down to the kitchens.”

The Trooper hesitated, then said, “Yes, sir.” He took the tray and was gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

“When will this friend of yours get here?” Leia asked as Dr. Ammit returned and sat at the foot of her bed.

“Soon,” Dr. Ammit promised, smiling.

The word had scarcely left his mouth when the door opened again, admitting two red Imperial Guards. The Stormtrooper still standing guard snapped to a stiff salute as the Emperor himself walked through the door.

“Good morning, little Leia,” he said, smiling. His cowl was thrown back from his head, leaving his scarred face and head visible.

Leia shrank away. She had never seen the Emperor without his cowl before, and it was a frightening sight to behold. He looked ancient, the deep furrows carved into his cheeks, forehead, and scalp etched like canyons of old age across his cracked and splitting skin. His eyes were a sick, rotting yellow—another detail Leia had never noticed before—and his browless, lashless lids blinked fast and narrow, like a snake.

Seeing Leia looking at him, the Emperor’s smile widened. “Afraid of what you see, little Leia?” he asked kindly.

Leia shook her head, eyes wide and fastened on the Emperor’s face.

The Emperor chuckled. “I can sense your lie,” he told her. “But that’s okay. You can be afraid of me. Perhaps you even _should_ be afraid of me.

“But that’s not why I came here. I came here today to tell you that you are under my custody now. Do you know what that means?”

Leia nodded, eyes still wide. She had yet to look away from the Emperor—had yet to even blink. The fear that, if she did, he would appear suddenly close to her was insensible but resolutely planted in Leia’s mind.

“You’ve been abandoned by everyone you love,” the Emperor went on. “But I will never abandon you, Leia. I swear to you. You are under my protection now—and that means you will never need for anything, will never want for anything.

“Do you remember what I told my Moffs, Admirals, and Inquisitors?” he asked.

Again Leia nodded, blinking once very quickly.

“You are going to be great, little Leia,” the Emperor told her. “If you follow me, and do as I say, you will soon be second to only me. Do you want that?”

“I don’t know,” Leia said. Her voice sounded very small against the Emperor’s captivating tone.

“The Emperor is offering you the world, Leia,” Dr. Ammit said, speaking for the first time since the Emperor had entered the room. He reached out and took Leia’s hand. “He’s offering you a life away from ever being harmed again. You’d never be abandoned by those you love, never be denied anything. Don’t you want that?”

“I don’t know,” Leia said again, even smaller.

Dr. Ammit glanced at the Emperor, who nodded.

“Why don’t you know, Leia?” Dr. Ammit asked, rubbing a soothing thumb over her knuckles. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Papá always said that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is,” Leia said.

“But this is true,” Dr. Ammit said. “I promise you, Leia—follow the Emperor, and you will live a life such as you can only imagine. Defy him, and your life will be more miserable than you can conceive of. Do you want that, Leia?”

Leia shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said again, louder and more desperate.

“You don’t have to decide today,” the Emperor told her. “But the day will come when I need your answer, Leia. And I will not abide a denial.”

The Emperor smiled at her one last time, then turned and left, the Imperial Guards following in his footsteps.

“Leia,” Dr. Ammit said, very concerned, once they were gone, “it’s dangerous to defy the Emperor like you just did.”

“I don’t care,” Leia said stubbornly.

“You need to. Leia, the Emperor means what he said—he will never abandon you like Carlist or Mon did. He could be the father you lost.”

Leia’s obstinate look—chin jutted forward, eyes hot—morphed into a glare, which she leveled on Dr. Ammit. “No one will replace Papá,” she said. “How could you even think—”

“I’m sorry, Leia,” Dr. Ammit said, cutting her off gently. “I didn’t mean that.”

Leia’s bottom lip quivered and she sniffed, battling back the tears that threatened. “I’ve lost everyone,” she whispered. “Papá. Rebécca. Aunt Mon. Master Carlist. Everyone.”

“Not everyone,” Dr. Ammit said. “You still have me. And you have the Emperor. He’ll never abandon you, Leia.”

“You’ve said that,” Leia said.

A pause. Then Dr. Ammit said softly, “Are you angry with me, Leia?”

“No,” Leia said. She hesitated, then added, “I don’t know.”

“What’s keeping you from accepting the Emperor’s offer?” Dr. Ammit asked after Leia had been silent for a moment.

Leia looked long and hard at Dr. Ammit, taking in his striking eyes, his thin mouth, the arch of his brow. She looked at him, and she asked herself, _Can I trust him?_

She thought she could. But then, she had thought she could trust Aunt Mon and Master Carlist, and both of them had failed her. Could she trust this doctor, who she had only known for a couple of weeks—and who had been a part of her captivity?

“Can I trust you?” Leia asked, voice very small and soft.

Dr. Ammit leaned in close, and said, “You can trust me with your life, Leia.”

Leia nodded. “Sometimes,” she said slowly, “sometimes I get flashes of feeling from people. It’s like I just _know_ if they’re a good person or a bad one. I can tell what they feel like—like rats, or thrantas, or durasteel.”

“Okay,” Dr. Ammit said when Leia hesitated, clearly waiting for a response from him.

“You believe me?” Leia asked.

Dr. Ammit nodded. “I do,” he said. “In fact, I’ve heard of that kind of thing before. It’s called the Force, I think.”

Leia shook her head. “It’s not the Force. At least, I don’t _think_ it’s the Force. Papá never told me I had the Force—and he would have, wouldn’t he?”

“Maybe not,” Dr. Ammit said. “Or maybe he thought he was protecting you by keeping that part of you a secret.”

Leia frowned. This was too much to think about right now.

“Anyway,” she said, continuing on, pushing aside the rest to think about later, “I keep getting feelings from the Emperor.”

“And?” Dr. Ammit pressed.

“He feels like a snake. And you can’t trust snakes.”

“Why can’t you trust snakes?”

“Because they bite without warning. Some of them, anyway—and the Emperor feels like one of them. Poisonous and secret, just waiting to bite.”

“Venomous,” Dr. Ammit corrected.

“What?”

“Snakes are venomous, not poisonous.”

“Oh,” Leia said. “Okay.”

Dr. Ammit patted her on the knee. “I don’t think the Emperor is one of the bad snakes. Maybe he is a snake, but there are a lot of non-venomous snakes in this galaxy. Many of them are in fact very kind and gentle creatures.”

Leia shook her head. “Not the Emperor. I can tell.”

Dr. Ammit patted her on the knee again. “If you say so, Leia,” he said.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked.

“I just know the Emperor,” Dr. Ammit said. “I’ve known him for almost eleven years now, and I know that he can be a very kind and caring man. He may be powerful—he is the Emperor of the galaxy, after all—but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad man.”

Leia looked at him and did not speak.

“Do you believe me?” Dr. Ammit asked.

Leia nodded, and said quietly, “Yes.”

But she didn’t. Just like she could sometimes feel people, so she could sometimes tell when people were lying to her. And Dr. Ammit was lying to her now.

What did that mean? Did it mean she couldn’t trust Dr. Ammit? But he was kind and thoughtful and had helped her. He was the one who had talked to Aunt Mon and Master Carlist and found out that they didn’t want her. He had helped her, catching her when she fell and encouraging her when she wanted to give up, defeated by the weakness in her body and will. He had comforted her when she cried, and had helped her sleep. How could he be a bad man?

But he _had_ lied. So the question then was: Why? If he was a good man, why had he lied?

Was it that he was afraid of the Emperor? Was he afraid that the Emperor would hurt him if he didn’t go along with what he said? Was he afraid that the Emperor would hurt _her_? Had he just been trying to protect her this whole time?

 _Yes_ , Leia decided. _That must be it._ He had just been trying to protect her from the Emperor, because he knew that the Emperor could be a bad man.

Did that mean she should go along with what he said? Should she listen to Dr. Ammit, and to the Emperor, and give in?

“The Emperor is not a good man,” her father had told her, more than once. The last time had been on the stairs in their Coruscant apartment, mere moments before they left for the Solstice Ball. “He is cold and cunning and cruel,” her father had added. “But we have to obey him all the same.”

“Why?” Leia had asked.

“Because he’s the Emperor.”

“Even if he’s a bad man?”

Her father had nodded. He had been quiet for a moment then, looking at her with a strange expression on his face. Then he had said, “Sometimes, though, a bad man is too bad. When that happens, steps must be taken to get rid of that bad man, even as you’re obeying him.”

“You mean fight?” Leia had asked, perking up. She had always liked the stories about the Jedi and the Clones fighting against the Separatists.

“Yes,” her father had said. “But you have to be careful, and choose which way you’re going to fight.”

“What do you mean?” Leia had asked.

“I mean that sometimes it takes fighting with guns and vibroswords, and sometimes it takes fighting with words and laws and legislation.”

“Like what you do in the Senate?”

Her father had smiled. “Exactly like that.”

“But the Emperor doesn’t know, does he?”

“He knows some of it,” her father had told her. “He knows I oppose him on certain bills that they try to pass through the Senate. He knows our ideologies are on different ends of the scale. But he doesn’t know that I’m telling my daughter that he’s a bad man.” He had tapped her on the nose then, and said, “So don’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” Leia had promised.

 _He’s a bad man_ , Leia thought now. _He’s a snake, and not a kind and gentle one. He’s one that waits in the grass and bites your heel when you walk past._

 _I have to fight him, just like Papá said._ She blinked, and for an instant saw the flowers painted with her father’s blood. _I have to fight him_ for _Papá, since Papá’s not here to fight him anymore._

“Leia?” Dr. Ammit said. “Are you all right?”

Leia looked up at him. She nodded. “I’m okay,” she said. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him of her choice—but then shut it again. If he was willing to lie to try to protect her, he would try to dissuade her from her decision. That, and he might try to intervene, to keep her from fighting the Emperor after all. And she couldn’t risk that.

So instead she smiled at Dr. Ammit and said, “I’m okay, really.”

“Okay,” he said, and stood. “I have to go now—but I hope you’ll think about what I said.”

“I will,” Leia said.

“Good. You’re a good girl, you know.”

Leia smiled. “Thank you.”

Dr. Ammit nodded. “I’ll see you later this afternoon for our walk,” he said. “I have some things I need to attend to first. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” Leia said.

“Good. I’ll see you this afternoon then.”

“Okay,” Leia said, still smiling.

Dr. Ammit turned to go. Leia watched his retreating back and thought, _I have to do this—for both of us._

The door closed, and all was silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 is actually already written! When I post it honestly depends on feedback I get... The more feedback I get, the more inclined I'll be to post it early! Otherwise I'll probably wait for a week and post it next Sunday. So if you don't want to wait, consider dropping me a line!


	8. Part 1: Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's midnight on the US East Coast, so in that time zone I kept to my update. At least it was early rather than late, amiright? ;)
> 
> Thank you so, so, SO much to everyone who left me a comment or review. You all really made my week - and it's because of you that this chapter is being posted so early!
> 
> Again, huge thanks to princess-sansa-of-ithilien and absynthe--minded for their wonderful beta jobs, and also for putting up with me almost obsessively writing and talking about this fic.

CHAPTER 7

The next three days passed quickly for Leia. Dr. Ammit spent more time with her, taking her on longer and longer walks, and sitting with her afterwards. Her father had taught her how to play chess when she was six, and now she played with Dr. Ammit.

“I don’t know how you beat me again,” Dr. Ammit said after Leia had won twice in a row.

Leia grinned. “I’m just good.”

Dr. Ammit laughed. “That you are, little Leia.”

On the fourth day, however, things changed.

Leia had just finished eating her breakfast—cereal with bantha milk and sliced meiloorun—when the door opened and a tall, black-clad woman entered. She had wine-dark hair, with skin pale and thin, stretched over too-large bones. Red tattoos coiled along her cheekbones and where her eyebrows should have been, shadowing her eyes. They glittered yellow, and she carried a lightsaber on her belt.

“You may call me the Sixth Sister,” she told Leia, standing stiffly at the foot of her bed.

“I’m Leia,” Leia said, voice small. Sixth Sister made her want to curl into a ball and close her eyes, as if by doing that she could forget she was there. Like the Emperor, she felt dangerous—but rather than like a snake, she felt like one of the great Alderaanian mountain cats. They were large enough to take down a bantha, and savage enough to kill a man.

“No,” Sixth Sister said, stern and unyielding. “You are no longer Leia. From now on, you will be known as 851.”

Leia frowned, confused. “Why?” she asked. “Why can’t I be Leia?”

“You have not yet earned the right to bear a name,” Sixth Sister informed her. “Until you do, you will be known as 851. Am I understood?”

“But my name is Leia,” she protested.

“You no longer have a name,” Sixth Sister repeated. “You are merely 851.”

Leia, still not sure what to make of this new development, stared at her. What did Sixth Sister mean, saying she hadn’t earned the right to have a name? She was a human. She had a name that was given to her by her mother and father. Why was she telling her she couldn’t go by that? Why was she telling her she was only a number?

“What is your designation?” Sixth Sister asked.

“Leia.”

“No,” Sixth Sister said. “What is your designation?”

“Leia.”

“No,” Sixth Sister said again, harder. Her voice cut like glass. “What is your designation?”

“Leia,” Leia said, frustrated and confused.

“No.” Now her voice was cold, like ice and space and death. “What is your designation?”

Leia clenched her hands into fists, her nails biting into her palms. “It’s Leia. That’s the name Mamá and Papá gave me.”

“Your mother and father are dead,” Sixth Sister said bluntly. “With them died your name.”

“But Dr. Ammit calls me Leia,” she protested.

“Not after today. Today your old self dies, and your new life begins. Now, what is your designation?”

Leia swallowed hard. _My name is Leia_ , she thought. _I’m Leia. Not just a number._

“851,” Sixth Sister snapped. “Answer me.”

“851,” Leia said quietly, hating Sixth Sister, but giving in. She would clearly accept no other answer.

“Speak louder.”

Leia’s nails carved red crescents into her hands. “851,” she said again, louder.

Sixth Sister did not smile, but Leia could tell she was pleased. She nodded once, as if to herself, and then said, “Very good.”

She lifted a hand and flicked her fingers. The binder around Leia’s wrist popped open.

“Get up,” Sixth Sister ordered.

Leia hesitated. Something in her balked at the idea of obeying. The knot in her stomach twisted cruely, making her nauseous, and distrust was crawling up and down her spine.

 _I’m scared_ , Leia realized, feeling bile crawl at the back of her throat. _But why?_

“Where are we going?” she asked, more bravely than she felt, and did not move from the bed.

“It is time to begin your training,” Sixth Sister replied. “Now get up.”

Still Leia did not move. “What training?” she asked, trying to shove away the nausea now crawling into her mouth.

Sixth Sister sighed, irritated. “The Emperor has ordered that you be trained in the basic uses of the Force.”

“But I don’t have the Force,” Leia protested.

Sixth Sister laughed. “You think not?” she asked, voice thick with derision.

Leia shook her head.

“Think again.”

Leia frowned. “But why does the Emperor want me trained?” she asked.

“You are to be his weapon,” Sixth Sister said. “Or were you not listening in the throne room?”

“You were there?” Leia asked.

“Of course I was there,” Sixth Sister replied. “Every Inquisitor within a day’s travel was there.”

“You’re an Inquisitor?”

“Only Inquisitors—and Lord Vader—bear lightsabers,” Sixth Sister sneered. “I thought you were supposed to be _smart_ , 851.”

Leia blushed, stung. “I am,” she protested. “I just…”

“Just what?” Sixth Sister asked, mocking.

Leia shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said, feeling stupid.

“Now get up,” Sixth Sister ordered.

Again Leia balked at the command. This time, though, she knew why.

 _She’s an Inquisitor_ , Leia thought, staring at her. _Just like Twelfth Brother_. Leia blinked, and in the fraction of a second’s darkness behind her eyelids, she saw again her father’s blood painting the flowers scarlet.

It wasn’t just that she was an Inquisitor, though. Sixth Sister had said she was there on the orders of the Emperor—that the Emperor had ordered Leia trained in the Force. And hadn’t she sworn to herself that she would fight the Emperor? By fighting against Sixth Sister’s orders, she was fighting against the Emperor’s wishes—right?

“Get up,” Sixth Sister growled a third time. “Now.”

Leia crossed her arms. _I said I was going to fight,_ she thought. _So I’m going to fight_.

“No,” she said aloud.

“No?” Sixth Sister asked, taken aback. She frowned then, and took a threatening step forward. “What do you mean _no_ , 851?”

“I mean no,” Leia said, braver than she felt. “I won’t get up.”

“Why not?” Sixth Sister asked, soft and dangerous.

“Because I won’t.”

“Fine,” Sixth Sister said. “If you will act like a child, then I will carry you like a child.”

Leia stared at Sixth Sister as she rounded the bed. Leia’s arms were folded over her chest, her chin jutted forward, expression challenging. “If you touch me, I’ll bite you,” she warned as Sixth Sister drew near.

“Try and you will be punished,” Sixth Sister replied.

She reached for Leia—and Leia struck. She grabbed Sixth Sister’s hand with both of hers, keeping its still, and, leaning forward, sank her teeth into her flesh. Sixth Sister yelled and jerked away. Blood oozed out of a ring of pock marks, staining her bone white skin a shocking scarlet.

“You little _urchin_ ,” she shrieked, and slapped Leia.

Leia fell against the bed’s railing with a cry. She lifted a hand to press against her red cheek and swallowed back tears—tears from horror as much as from pain. She had never been slapped before.

Before Leia could gather her wits, Sixth Sister seized her under the arms and lifted her. Settling Leia against her hip, she warned, “If you bite me again, I will do more than slap you.” Then she turned and, striding purposefully, left the room that had been Leia’s home for the past two and a half weeks.

Sixth Sister carried Leia to the lift at the end of the hall. Once the door had closed, however, she bent down to place Leia on the floor. Leia, however, refused to stand. As soon as her feet touched the floor, she sank down and sat.

“Stand up,” Sixth Sister ordered.

Leia, silent, refused.

“I said stand up,” Sixth Sister said again.

Again Leia refused.

Sixth Sister reached down and, putting her hands under Leia’s arms, tried to lift her. As soon as she released her, however, Leia simply flopped back down to the floor, arms still locked over her chest.

“Fine,” she snarled, and straightened. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Sixth Sister picked Leia up again once the lift doors opened. They were on the Palace’s ground floor, and as they passed through the long, twisting corridors, Leia saw countless servants and Stormtroopers, as well as a handful of courtiers busily going about their business.

They left the Palace and crossed a cobbled courtyard, cobbled and centered with a small, happily burbling fountain shaped like a leaping fish. Leia shivered at the feel of sunlight on her skin.

It had been many days—Leia didn’t know how many—since she had last felt the sun.

A large building made of stone and mortar rose before them, reaching for the sky with gabled eaves. A large, double door faced the courtyard, with words in a tongue Leia didn’t recognize written on the lintel. They slid open as Leia and Sixth Sister approached, revealing a cool, dark foyer.

The foyer was made of white marble and Kashyykian wood, the walls paneled and the ceiling tiled. It smelled old and stale, and Leia shuddered as she crossed the threshold; just asLeia could feel Sixth Sister and the Emperor, so too could she feel this place.

Leia knew what death felt like. When she was four, a rabbit had been caught and then abandoned by a palace dog. Leia had found it gasping its last breaths in the garden. Gathering it up carefully, she had sung to it in its final moments. It had died there, lying in her hands, and Leia had felt the life flee the body, leaving only cold and a vast emptiness in its wake.

Leia felt that again now, crossing into the interior of the building.

Sixth Sister brought her to a lift just off the foyer. They rode upwards in silence, and the door opened on a long, brightly lit corridor.

“This is your room,” Sixth Sister said, halting by a door halfway down the hall. She keyed it open, and Leia hesitantly peeked in.

It was small and sparse, the only furniture a bed against right-hand wall, a nightstand, and a short, squat dresser in the near corner. A toilet sat in the far corner beside a sink. It was the strangest room Leia had ever seen, and she didn’t like it.

“This is mine?” she asked skeptically, breaking her silence for the first time since they had left her room in the Medical Wing.

“Yes,” Sixth Sister said. She carried Leia through the door, then put her down on the floor. This time Leia stood, though she kept her arms crossed.

She went to the dresser, opened the top of the two drawers, and pulled out a pair of shorts and a shirt. A pair of underwear came out of the bottom drawer. “Put these on,” she ordered, “then come back out into the hall.” She turned to look at Leia, one tattooed eyebrow raised. “Unless I need to dress you, too?”

Leia shook her head. The idea of someone else undressing and dressing her was too much even for her stubbornness. “No,” she said. “I can do it.”

“Good,” Sixth Sister said. “Once you’re finished, come out into the hall.” And, turning, left Leia alone in the room.

Leia took the clothes and sat down on her bed, looking at them. They were made from a fine polyester material, and were stretchy like elastic. They reminded Leia of the clothes that the Honor Guard wore while exercising.

Rising, Leia quickly pulled off the shirt, pants, and underwear she’d been wearing since she woke up in the Medical Center. Then she pulled on the new clothes. They felt nice against her skin, soft and silky and clean.

 _Now what?_ Leia wondered. Did she obey Sixth Sister and go out into the hall? Or did she risk punishment again by going back to her stubborn defiance?

 _I’ve barely fought him_ , Leia thought. _Just refusing to walk a little ways isn’t enough. It doesn’t mean anything._ A disturbing thought crossed Leia’s mind then. _Does_ any _of this matter? Is_ any _of it enough?_

She had to do _something_ , though. She couldn’t just let the Emperor win. She had to fight for her father—for her father, and Rebécca, and Abretheer, and Abrothaar, and everyone else who had died on Twelfth Brother’s lightsaber.

Besides, Sixth Sister was an Inquisitor just like Twelfth Brother. Leia couldn’t fight against Twelfth Brother, but she _could_ fight against Sixth Sister. And that was better than nothing. Right?

Her decision made, Leia sat down on the bed and crossed her legs on top of the blanket that served as a coverlet. She would face whatever consequence awaited her, if only to make this one, small act of rebellion.

She did not have to wait long.

The door opened, and Sixth Sister entered. She was scowling, the downward curl of her lips making her face long and pointed. Looking around, she spied Leia on the bed—and her frown deepened.

“I told you to come out when you were changed,” she said tersely.

“I didn’t want to,” Leia said.

“Come here,” Sixth Sister said.

“No.”

Sixth Sister took a warning step toward the bed and Leia. “Come here,” she said again, the words sharp enough to cut.

“No,” Leia said again.

With a growl, Sixth Sister stalked across the room and grabbed Leia by the wrist. This time, rather than picking her up, she simply dragged Leia off the bed. She turned then and started back toward the door, pulling Leia along behind her. Leia yelped in surprise, then scrambled to get her feet beneath her, not wanting to be dragged along the ground.

They returned to the lift, Sixth Sister yanking Leia after her. She threw Leia in once the door had finished opening, then stepped in after her, the dark frown on her face filling the narrow space with thunder.

When the lift stopped and the door opened, it was to a hall that looked almost identical to the one outside of Leia’s room; it was brightly lit and walled with the same wood paneling, the floor slick tile. This time, however, the doors to the rooms on either side of the hall were widely spaced and open, and instead of bedrooms they revealed wood- and mat-floored practice courts and training rooms lined with mirrors and filled with equipment. It smelled like sweat and ozone, and like pain and exhaustion. Leia, once more being dragged behind Sixth Sister, wrinkled her nose in disgust.

They came to the end of the corridor and the door there, which was closed—the first closed door Leia had seen in this hall. Sixth Sister turned and looked down at Leia, then motioned for her to enter in front of her. Leia stubbornly shook her head.

“Don’t make me carry you in,” Sixth Sister warned.

“Or what?” Leia challenged, yanking her hand free of Sixth Sister’s hold and crossing her arms once more.

“You won’t like the answer,” Sixth Sister warned.

In reply, Leia sat.

Sixth Sister reached down and seized Leia by the hair. Dragging her upwards, and ignoring Leia’s scream of surprise and pain, she opened the door and strode through. Once they were inside, Sixth Sister threw Leia forward, sending her sprawling.

Leia picked herself up gingerly, once more battling tears, and found herself in a large practice court. The floor was made of light balsa wood, but for the two large, blue mats sunk into the floor at the center of the room. The far wall was lined with mirrors and a waist-high bar, while on the two side walls there hung rack upon rack of weaponry: staffs, vibroswords, spears, pikes, glaives, and all manner of weapons Leia had no name for. A balcony meant for watchers wrapped around the left-hand wall, the tight staircase leading up to it standing in the corner nearest to Leia.

Four people—two men and two women—stood waiting for her. They were all dressed as she was, in polyester, form-fitting exercise clothes. All were barefoot. Two of them also bore lightsabers on their hips, the belts on which they hung slung low.

They ceased talking when she entered and turned toward her, expressions guarded but intrigued. For a long moment there was only silence, Leia standing uncertainly just inside the door with Sixth Sister at her back, the other four inspecting her closely.

“Welcome, Sister,” the man bearing the lightsaber said at last, looking past Leia to Sixth Sister. He was tall and narrow—narrow shoulders, narrow face, narrow eyes. His hair was shorn close against his head, and his eyes were a ripe, glittering yellow.

The woman bearing a lightsaber was a Twi’lek. She had dark green skin and the same yellow eyes, wide and framed by long lashes. She did not look happy to see Leia; her mouth was curled into an unhappy sneer, and her gaze on Leia was hard and uncomfortable.

“Come here, 851,” the second man said. He was short and broad-shouldered, with long blue-black hair gathered behind him in a horse tail. His eyes were a startling blue, accented by the darkness of his skin. His teeth were brilliantly white, his lips rich and full.

When Leia made no move to obey, Sixth Sister gave her a sharp push between the shoulder blades. Leia stumbled forward, caught herself, and halted. She did not want to get any closer to the Inquisitors—she remembered again Twelfth Brother’s yellow eyes, and the way they had glinted in the light of her bedroom—but more than that, she wanted to defy them. Her resolution to fight the Emperor, as well as the Inquisitors, was fresh in her mind and spirit. She was certain that these men and women were here to train her, and at the Emperor’s will. Hadn’t Sixth Sister said as much?

“I gave you an order, 851,” Blue Eyes said.

Leia sat down.

“Not this again,” Sixth Sister groaned. The other four looked at her with curious eyes, but said nothing as Sixth Sister rounded Leia and crouched down in front of her. “Listen, 851,” she said coldly, “if you don’t do what we want you to, you’re not going to like the consequences.”

Leia crossed her arms and glared at Sixth Sister. Sixth Sister glared back.

There were footsteps, and Leia looked up to see the male Inquisitor approaching. He halted above Sixth Sister’s shoulder and looked down at the two of them, face impassive.

“You know our orders, Sister,” he said.

Sixth Sister scoffed. But she looked away from Leia and stood. “Good luck with her,” she tossed over her shoulder, and left.

The male Inquisitor knelt in front of Leia, a kind smile on his lips. “Hello, 851,” he said. “I am Ninth Brother. My companions here are Thirteenth Sister, Cora, and Danyil.” He motioned first to the female Twi’lek, then to the woman, and at last to Blue Eyes. “We’re going to be training you.”

Leia crossed her arms and said, “I don’t want to be trained.”

“Be that as it may,” Ninth Brother said, “it is the Emperor’s command that you be trained.”

Leia shook her head. “I don’t care.”

Ninth Brother frowned, his smile faltering for the first time. “You should care,” he said. “The Emperor is the one providing you with food and clothes and a room here at the Palace. The least you can do is train for a few hours.”

Leia shook her head again. “No.”

“Okay,” Ninth Brother said, sitting down in front of her. “We can wait then. Whenever you’re ready, though, we’ll be ready too.”

Leia smiled. Had they forgotten that she had spent the last two and a half weeks bound to a bed with nothing to do? She could outwait them, she was certain.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Thirty. An hour.

Ninth Brother rose and returned to the other three, still standing by the nearer mat. They put their heads together and spoke quietly for a moment, before Thirteenth Sister turned and left the practice court in a hurry. Leia watched her leave, idly wondering for a moment where she was going. Then she turned her attention back to memorizing the grain of the wood floorboard by her right foot.

Thirteenth Sister was gone for what Leia guessed was about an hour. She had moved on from memorizing the grain in the floorboard by her right foot to memorizing the grain in the floorboard by her left foot. It had an interesting whorl in it, which was giving Leia no end of entertainment as she counted each angle of each dark grain.

“What did he say?” Danyil asked, voice low and barely audible.

Leia strained her ears to hear Thirteenth Sister’s reply. She missed the first half of it, but then caught the words, “—don’t have any choice. We wait and see what happens.”

Danyil sighed, clearly annoyed. “Fine,” he said. His deep voice was clear if quiet. “But how long do we wait?”

“Until she breaks,” Ninth Brother said.

“And if she doesn’t?” Cora asked.

“You really think a nine-year-old girl can outwait us?” Ninth Brother asked.

All four of them glanced at Leia, who quickly pretended to be looking at the floorboards.

“Surely not,” Thirteenth Sister said. But she did not sound certain.

Lunchtime came and went. Servants appeared at the door to the practice court, bearing trays of grilled bantha, green beans, cake, and cool fruit juice. A tray was placed in front of Leia, who picked at the food without really eating it—the knot in her stomach was even wider than it had been this morning, stealing her appetite. The other four ate slowly, laughing and talking as they did so.

Sometime in the afternoon Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister unhooked the lightsabers from their belts and stepped out onto the nearer mat. They ignited their ‘sabers in a flare of scarlet, bowed to each other,  then launched themselves forward. They met in a clash of screeching light.

Leia perked up at the sound and watched, fascinated, as they circled each other on light feet, both looking for even a split second’s weakness.

Ninth Brother attacked first. He flew forward with a flurry of attacks. Thirteenth Sister stumbled back one pace, then two, barely managing to block each of Ninth Brother’s strikes. Then she surged forward, bearing down on Ninth Brother’s blade. She caught his hilt against hers, and for a long moment they strained, each trying to force the other to their knees.

Finally, Thirteenth Sister broke away. They went back to circling.

This time it was Thirteenth Sister who attacked. She lunged, sweeping her blade down and under, aiming for Ninth Brother’s knees. He blocked the ‘saber, then counterattacked, focusing on her chest and shoulders. Thirteenth Sister batted his lightsaber away, then swung a blow at his hip. Ninth Brother only barely blocked it, and stumbled off balance.

From then on, the fight was in Thirteenth Sister’s favor. She struck hard and fast, raining blow after blow against Ninth Brother’s guard, with each strike getting closer and closer to his body, never fully letting Ninth Brother regain his balance.

Finally, with a complicated twist and jerk, Thirteenth Sister slid her ‘saber around Ninth Brother’s blade, battering it from his hand. The hilt fell to the mat with a soft _thump_ , leaving Thirteenth Sister to level her blade to Ninth Brother’s throat.

Ninth Brother smiled bitterly. “Well done,” he conceded.

Thirteenth Sister grinned and lowered her lightsaber. “That makes four times in a row for me,” she taunted. “Shall we go again?”

Ninth Brother called his lightsaber to his hand with what Leia knew must be a tug of the Force. “No,” he said. “I’ve had my pride hurt enough for one day.”

Thirteenth Sister laughed at that, allowing the blade to slide back into her hilt. “Next time you’re ready to have your pride hurt, come find me.”

Turning, Ninth Brother noticed Leia watching them. He smiled, and crossed the room to kneel before her once more.

“Did you enjoy that?” he asked her.

Leia didn’t answer him.

“We can teach you how to fight like that,” he told her. “With a lightsaber and everything.”

Leia considered her options again now that she had new information. She could continue to be obstinate, fighting the Emperor and the Inquisitors with her stubbornness, or she could learn how to fight with a lightsaber. She _did_ really want to learn, now that she had glimpsed the possibilities offered to her. But accepting that training would mean giving in to the Emperor’s desires. And, more than that, it would mean learning from Inquisitors—something which made Leia balk.

She had seen an Inquisitor in action before, she reminded herself. She had seen a lightsaber battle the night her father and their entire household had been killed. Even though it would be amazing, was it spitting in the memory of her father and all the rest to learn how to wield a lightsaber?

An even worse thought crept into Leia’s mind. If she did learn, would she ever be ordered to do something like Twelfth Brother had done?

Somehow, Leia thought she would be.

 _“She will be a great weapon for the Empire,”_ the Emperor had said, and that _“under her hand and heel my rule will be established for generations to come.”_ Didn’t that mean he would use her to hurt people? Even to kill?

 _No_ , Leia decided firmly. _I won’t let them train me._

“Still no?” Ninth Brother asked.

Leia just stared at him.

Ninth Brother rose. “So be it,” he said, and turned back to the others.

The rest of the day passed without incident. The four adults waited by the mats, talking quietly about things that didn’t interest Leia, waiting futilely for her to get bored and come to them.

At last Cora—blonde-haired, with silver eyes and silver nails—came over to Leia and knelt down. “Come on,” she said, her voice sweet and fragile, “let’s go back to your room.”

“Okay,” Leia said and stood.

Looking mildly surprised, Cora stood too. “Come on, then,” she said, and led the way back to the room Sixth Sister had said was Leia’s. “There are pajamas in the bottom drawer,” she told Leia, “and a hairbrush and toothbrush under the sink.”

Leia turned back to face Cora standing in the doorway and said, “Okay. Thank you.” It didn’t hurt to be polite, Leia thought—not while they weren’t trying to force her to train, anyway.

Again looking mildly surprised, Cora nodded. “You’re welcome,” she said, and then stepped back out of the doorway. “I’ll come get you in the morning,” she said. Then she closed the door.

Leia waited a moment, then crossed the room and tried to open the door. It didn’t move, much to Leia’s disappointment. She was not, however, surprised.

After standing and staring at the door for a moment longer, trying to think of ways to get out—there was no panel on the inside of the room, and even if there was Leia wouldn’t have known how to hotwire the lock—she turned and went to the sink. She turned it on and splashed cold water on her face, then bent down to rifle through the cabinet underneath it. She found the promised hairbrush and toothbrush, as well as toothpaste, hair ties, and hair pins.

It took almost fifteen minutes for Leia to take down and fully brush out her hair. It had been in the same braids for almost three weeks now—no one had cared enough to take them out, though some hairs had pulled free on their own—and there were knots and tangles enough to make Leia wince as she worked them out. She then brushed her teeth, and changed into the pajamas—soft shorts and a loose shirt—that she found in the bottom drawer of the dresser. Then, feeling better than she had in weeks, Leia crawled into bed and fell asleep.

~oOo~

Leia opened her eyes to a large, opulent room overhung with shadow. A large window in the far wall overlooked the Coruscant skyline, admitting in light of every shade and casting all of the furniture in the room—a wardrobe, two nightstands, and directly beneath Leia a bed—into stark relief.

Two people were laying in the bed, the smaller of the two—the woman, Leia thought—snuggled deep into the man’s arms. She was pregnant, Leia saw, her belly swollen beneath the pale blue nightdress.

“It’s going to be a boy,” the woman said softly to the man. Her hair was long and curled, dark against the whiteness of the pillow and sheets.

“With a kick that hardstrong?” the man said. He was fair-haired and strong, his shoulders wide and his arms well-defined. “I think it’s going to be a girl.”

“Hmmm,” the woman hummed.

“What, you don’t believe me?” the man asked.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. I just don’t believe you.”

The man laughed. Then, sobering, he asked, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing, waiting to see the gender of the baby?”

“Why would it be wrong?”

The man buried his face in the woman’s dark hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “It just feels...dangerous, somehow.”

“I don’t see how it could be dangerous. Unless you think green is an unfit color for the baby’s room.”

The man laughed again. “No, I think green is fine.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Just a feeling,” the man said, softly. “A bad feeling…”

Fire roared up, devouring the edges of Leia’s sight. The image of the room wavered, then shrank, like paper caught in an open flame, curling and peeling away to reveal a second, darker image underneath.

The sky was an ugly black, the earth shattered rock and barren soil. A river of lava ran slow and red-hot at the foot of a sloped bank, throwing off waves of heat and the acrid stench of melted stone.

A man lay half-in, half-out of the river. Flames lapped at his legs, his hips, his back, eating at the cloth of his robes and sinking down, down, down into his flesh. A metal arm scraped in the rubble on the bank’s edge, carving furrows into the soil.

A second man stood up higher on the bank. In his hand was the hilt of a lightsaber, on his shoulders the robes of a Jedi.

“You were my brother, Anakin,” the man on the bank cried, his voice broken with unshed tears. “I loved you!”

Then that image, too, burned, the fire rising out of the lava and consuming Leia’s field of vision. It roared, hungry and furious, and Leia screamed, the fire devouring her too. Then, as if it had destroyed all of the fuel it could, the fire began to abate, flickering weaker and weaker across Leia’s sight, until it vanished altogether, leaving only darkness in its wake.

Leia opened her eyes.

She was standing at the top of a sand dune, the sky stretching out in endless blue overhead. Two suns hung high in the heavens, blazing down in glorious, golden array. The air was hot and dry, and after the first breath Leia thought, just for an instant, that she was turning to fire and ash.

Then the sensation passed, and so too did the heat of the sand beneath her feet and the suns above her head. She was left standing in a desert that did not touch her.

“It’s not that the desert does not touch you,” said a calm, kind voice behind Leia. “It’s that you’re part of the desert.”

Leia whirled, startled, to see a woman standing behind her. She was short, dressed in a roughspun dress and shawl, with curling black hair and warm, brown eyes. She was smiling gently, and the smile made her eyes shine as if lit by embers.

“Who are you?” Leia asked.

The woman sat, and patted the ground in front of her. Leia obliged obediently, sitting down across from the woman, tucking her feet beneath her and laying her clasped hands in her lap.

“I am part of the desert,” the woman said, still smiling. “Just as you are. But you can call me Shmi.”

Leia shook her head. “I think you must have me confused with someone else,” she said. “I’m not part of the desert. I’ve never even _seen_ a desert. There aren’t any deserts on Alderaan.”

Shmi laughed. “Oh, Leia,” she said. “You are as much of the desert as the sand is, or the sun. You were birthed by it, though you were raised by the mountains.”

Leia shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean by all that,” she said, “but I still think you’ve got the wrong person.”

“Your name is Leia, isn’t it?” Shmi asked.

Leia nodded.

“And your father is Anakin Skywalker, isn’t he?”

Again Leia nodded, slower this time.

“There you are, then,” Shmi said, as if that answered everything.

“Who are you again?” Leia asked.

“I told you,” Shmi answered. “I’m Shmi.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Shmi reached out and brushed her fingertips against Leia’s cheek and then chin. Leia thought about jerking away—but something, some innate trust, stilled her. Instead, she found herself leaning into the woman’s touch, as if she had known this woman all her life, and found comfort in her presence.

“You are so young,” Shmi murmured, letting her hand fall.

“I’m nine,” Leia said stoutly.

The woman’s smile turned sad. “I know,” she said. “You’re the same age he was when…” She trailed off, a sorrowful look creeping into her eyes. She blinked, and the sorrow vanished, replaced with her smile.

“Much is going to happen to you, Leia Skywalker,” Shmi said. “You must be brave.”

“I’ll try,” Leia promised.

“Good,” Shmi said. “And I’ll be watching over you,” she promised.

“Who are you?” Leia asked, one final time.

“It’s not time yet for you to know,” Shmi said.

Leia bowed her head. “Okay,” she mumbled, surprising even herself. Normally she would have demanded answers. But now, for some reason, this seemed like enough.

“Sleep well, dear child,” Shmi murmured. She reached out and tucked a hand under Leia’s chin, lifting her face. Then, leaning forward, she kissed Leia’s forehead. “I’ll be here,” she promised, “waiting.”

Leia blinked—and Shmi, and the desert, were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I have the next chapter written. If I get good feedback, I'll post it on Thursday or Friday. Otherwise it'll probably be Sunday. Most importantly, though, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	9. Part 1: Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Good Friday y'all. I hope you enjoy the chapter on this somber evening.
> 
> I made a playlist for We Who Wander This Wasteland. If you wanna listen to it, you can do so here: https://open.spotify.com/user/serenlyall/playlist/7gUKOMaRF5Ncli2kWZxAgj?si=Vu7MchInQQ2URpofFzDdRg. 
> 
> If you have any questions for me, you can also contact me on tumblr at the url weary-hearted-queen.
> 
> Again, massive thanks to princess-sansa-of-ithilien and absynthe--minded for all of their hard work on this chapter. It wouldn't be nearly as good with your help.

CHAPTER 8

The next day dawned early for Leia. She woke to the sound of her door opening, and sat up to see Sixth Sister entering her room.

“Time to get up,” Sixth Sister said. She put a tray of food down on the foot of Leia’s bed, then went to the dresser and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. “Eat and get changed, then meet me out in the hall.”

Leia obeyed, rising and dressing quickly. She did not want Sixth Sister to dress her, and Leia suspected she would if pressed to it. Besides, Leia guessed she would be taken back to the practice court, where she could continue her silent and still rebellion.

Hungry, Leia went over and inspected the tray of food. Toast, eggs, and and a bowl of cut strawberries stared back at her. She ate, then folded her pajamas and put them away, brushed and braided her hair, then crossed to the door. She hesitated just beyond the sensor’s range.

She hoped that today would be better than yesterday.

It was not.

As Leia had suspected, Sixth Sister brought her to the practice court, then turned to leave. The door closed behind her and Leia sat on the floor, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. The sores on her wrists stung, and Leia fought the urge to rub at them. They had scabbed over during the night and now Leia wanted to pick at them.

“Stop that,” her father had told not two months ago, reaching over and grabbing her by the wrist to stop her scratching at her scabs. “Picking at them will only make them scar.”

Leia felt a pang of sorrow at the memory. She blinked, and saw blood on flowers. Tears unexpectedly welled in the corners of her eyes, and Leia looked down at the floor and blinked furiously, before reaching up and rubbing them away.

_ I won’t cry _ , Leia thought.  _ I’ve done enough crying. _

Hearing footsteps Leia looked up. Thirteenth Sister approached, an easy smile on her face.

“Good morning, 851,” she said, kneeling down in front of her. “How about we do some warm-up exercises?”

Leia shook her head. 

“We’ll start teaching you how to fight if you do,” she cajoled.

“No,” Leia said, though the truth of the matter was that she did want to learn how to fight. 

She already knew some basic hand-to-hand, and Rebécca had been training her in the use of a staff ever since she was five. Sabé, who worked as one of her father’s personal attendants and guards, had been teaching her how to shoot since she was old enough to hold a blaster.

“She’s going to be in a war,” Leia could remember overhearing her father tell her mother. She hadn’t been supposed to hear that—she was listening through the door, pressing her ear against the cool metal to better hear what was being said on the other side. “Ahsoka said—”

“I don’t care what Ahsoka said,” her mother had snapped. “She’s not old enough to be shooting.”

“She’s going to be in a war whether we like it or not. You know that.”

A beat of silence, then her mother had said, “I don’t know that.” But she sounded defeated.

More silence, then: “I don’t want our daughter to be a warrior, Bail.”

“I don’t either. But that is what fate has destined her to be. We can’t change that.”

“We could.”

There was a pause, then Leia’s father had said quietly—almost too quietly for Leia to hear, “But should we?”

“Come on, 851,” Thirteenth Sister said, bringing her out of the memory, voice half-begging. “Just do a few warm-up exercises with us.”

Leia shook her head.  _ I can’t give up now, _ she thought, seeing blood and grass and flowers.  _ I have to be strong. For Papá. For Rebécca. For everyone. _

“Come on,” Thirteenth Sister said, a hardness creeping into the edges of her request. “Just walk around the mats with me?”

Leia shook her head again, then said, “No.”

Thirteenth Sister lost her patience. “You can’t just sit there all day,” she snarled, the hard edge swallowing her voice.

Leia glared at her, hot and furious and certain. “I can. And I will.”

Thirteenth Sister balled her hands into fists and abruptly stood. “You will sit there or you will train with us,” she snapped.

“Okay,” Leia said, and turned her gaze to the floor beneath her. There were new whorls and patterns to memorize.

Lunch came and went, and still Leia sat on the floor with her legs crossed. Flecks of scab littered the floor around her and her wrists bled fitfully, but Leia didn’t care. All she cared about was counting the lights in the ceiling high overhead for the third time. The first time she had counted them she’d come up with 36, the second time 35, and she wanted to know which count was right.

A burst of laughter and a cry of, “Go on, then,” dragged Leia’s attention down from the ceiling. She watched as Cora and Danyil hopped down onto the mat and faced each other, bowing at the waist then sinking into defensive crouches.

Their fight was savage and quick, each strike and block a barely constrained hurricane of power. They danced around each other, darting in and out and in again, landing a blow, a second blow, then leaping away before the other could pin them.

Leia watched in fascination. This was nothing like the Alderaanian style of combat she had learned—that. It was all about fluidity and elegance, one blow leading into the next and then into the next, power hidden beneath grace. This was brutal and sharp, the power snapping like fire between each strike and counterattack.

The fight ended with Danyil punching Cora in the jaw. She fell, stunned, and lay there for a long minute. Leia wondered if she was seriously hurt. But then Danyil stepped forward and, bending down, offered his hand to her. She gripped it, and allowed Danyil to pull her upright.

“Good fight,” Danyil said with a grin. “You almost had me.”

Cora grinned. “Another ten seconds and I would have.”

“Probably true,” Danyil said.

He turned, and saw Leia watching them. “851,” he called. “If you come here, I can show you some of the moves we just used.”

Leia shook her head. “No thank you,” she said.  _ It doesn’t hurt to be polite _ , she thought.

Sixth Sister came to collect her after dinner. “Come on,” she said gruffly. 

Leia stood, leaving her warm spot of floor behind, and followed Sixth Sister out of the practice court and back to her room. She changed and readied for bed, climbing between the sheets once her teeth and hair were brushed. 

She fell asleep lulled by the sound of air humming from the vents.

The third day was no better. After breakfast, Leia was brought to the practice court, where she again took a seat. Danyil came over and sat with her for a while, talking with her and trying to get her to agree to train with him. Cora tried as well, as did Ninth Brother. Only Thirteenth Sister did not come over; she remained by the mats, glowering every time her gaze swept over Leia.

After lunch the door opened and three men Leia vaguely recognized came in—she thought they were in the throne room when she was presented to Palpatine. They were smiling and talking, though they drew up short at the sight of Leia sitting on the floor.

“Is this part of her training?” Leia overheard one of them ask his companions.

Murmurs of confusion answered his question. They skirted her, giving her a wide berth, and went to the staircase leading up to the balcony. Leia watched them ascend with confusion of her own. Why were they here? What did they expect to see? Were they here for her? Or for the other four?

Ninth Brother came over to her again. “851,” he said, crouching down, “there are people here who want to watch you learn. It would be a shame to let them down, don’t you think?”

“I’m not getting up,” Leia said defiantly.

Ninth Brother sighed. “We aren’t always going to be this kind,” he said gently.

Leia frowned. “I’m not getting up,” she said again.

“Very well,” Ninth Brother said, sounding long-suffering. 

He turned and went to the staircase, mounting it with long, slow grace. Leia watched him walk over to the three men and speak quietly to them. They all frowned down at Leia, who turned petulantly away and ignored them. They left after another twenty minutes, grumbling to themselves.

Two more men came in the next day. They stopped beside Leia, unlike the three the day before, and asked her what she was doing.

“Rebelling,” she told them, staring up at them with a challenge in the jut of her chin and the sharpness of her eyes.

They left after talking to the Inquisitors, frowning.

The first week ended with the presence of a tall, dark man who came just before Sixth Sister collected her and brought her back to her room. He was a massive carapace of a man, with a helmet that hid his face and a cape that flowed from his shoulders.

Leia had heard of this man, though she had never met him before. 

Darth Vader.

Her mother and father had always quickly carried her away whenever he entered a room. “He’s a bad man,” her father had told her more than once. Her mother had added, “He’s dangerous, and we don’t want to put you in any danger.” Leia had never known what made him so dangerous—and when she had asked, her parents had only given her vague half-answers. 

He did not approach Leia or the Inquisitors. He merely stood in the open doorway for a long moment, watching. Then, without a word, he turned and left, cape billowing behind him.

Leia felt cold at his departure, as if she had missed something important. She just didn’t know what.

~oOo~

Vader was tired, though he was loathe to admit it even to himself.

He had just returned to Coruscant after a lengthy mission deep in the Mid Rim, to a planet called Lothal. A few malcontents had been spreading rumors and what the Empire classified as “misinformation” via a com channel. It had taken longer than Vader had expected to flush them out.

Before that Vader had been sent as an envoy to the Hutts, negotiating with them for a trade route through their space. Vader detested the Hutts—a fact which he secretly thought Palpatine both knew and abused—and hated working with them. Doing so always made him tired and curt.

To make matters even worse, he had arrived to whispers—whispers that were half-known and partly understood, of a new Force Sensitive under the Emperor’s thumb.

It was one of his spies that brought the information to him—a young man named Jak, who served in the palace’s Imperial Domestic Corps. Vader, who had always detested slavery, had bought the Jak’s contract when he was just a boy and set him free. In return—and for a small monthly sum—Jak remained in the IDC, hiding his status as a freedman, where he cleaned in the IB—the building reserved for the Inquisitors visiting or serving on Coruscant.

The news he brought was disturbing.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion, my lord,” he said, bowing deeply, “especially since I know you just got back. I just thought it best you hear this right away.” 

Vader had only a few minutes ago arrived at the room technically reserved as his office. It was large and open, sparsely decorated with only a desk and two chairs facing it. Vader spent little time there, using it only to download his reports to the Imperial database, and to receive important visitors that Palpatine mandated he greet.

“What is this important information you bear?” Vader asked. He was uncustomarily seated behind the desk. Even when receiving guests, Vader much preferred to stand at one of the many windows looking down on a courtyard and up at the Coruscant skyline. He found that sitting detracted from his imposing aura.

“There’s a new Force Sensitive in the palace,” Jak said. “She’s being trained by two Inquisitors and two Imperial officers. Well, they’re trying to train her anyway. From what I’ve heard all she’s done is sit.”

“What is this Force Sensitive’s name?” Vader asked.

“Rumor has it that it’s Alderaan’s little princess. Leia, I think is her name. I’ve never seen her, and the only name I’ve heard being used is the number 851.”

Vader stood and turned toward the window behind his desk, clasping his hands behind his back. 

He had heard that Organa and his brat had been killed by Alderaanian radicals led by none other than Carlist Rieekan, one of Organa’s closest friends since the Clone War. The little princess, it was said, had been hacked almost to pieces and then burned. She had been unrecognizable.

It made too much sense, Vader thought. It would have been easy enough to find some child from the Underbelly about Leia Organa’s size and weight, someone no one would miss or mourn if she was butchered and burned. Meanwhile Palpatine would have free reign to do what he liked to Leia.

“You say she has resisted training?” Vader asked, not turning from the window.

“No, my lord,” Jak said. “I mean yes, my lord. I mean yes, she has resisted training. Karis, who brings the trays for lunch, says that she only sits a half dozen feet into the room—that that’s where she is every day. Tobias, who cleans the practice court they’re using, says she’s there when he goes in at dinner.”

_ Very interesting _ , Vader thought, staring out at the glittering tops of the buildings almost touching the sky.

Aloud, he said, “Keep an eye on this girl. Report back to me what you find.”

Jak bowed again. “Yes, my lord,” he said, and left the office.

Vader stared, unseeing, at the cityscape. 

Just who was this girl? She was someone special, clearly, given her assigned tutors. Usually a Force Sensitive was placed under the Inquisitorial training regime, not privately tutored by—not one but _two—_ Inquisitors, as well as two Imperial officers. 

That she had been kept at the palace was yet another clue; most Force Sensitives were taken to the Inquisitors’ Keep, located in the heart of a caldera on Prakith, a Deep Core world of fire and ice. That Leia—or whoever this child was—had been kept on Coruscant was telling. Palpatine wanted her close at hand, and likely beneath his purview and control.

So just who was this girl-child? What made her special? And what did Palpatine have planned for her?

Vader turned away from the window, deciding that it was time to visit this girl.

He arrived with sunset. The sky was rose and dying gold, the smog turning the air dusty purple and blue. The air was crisp and cold, making the stumps of Vader’s legs and arm ache. If he had not been breathing through a mask, he suspected his breath would be clouds in front of him.

Sometimes he was too sentimental, Vader decided as he stepped into the IB, the door sliding shut behind him. He was better now, as much machine as man—or so Palpatine told him. 

“You are refined to perfection,” Palpatine told him time and again. “You are the best of both humanity and technology.”

Vader was not sure he believed that.

He found the practice court without difficulty. It was the one room on the hall with a light on, though that light was only visible in a strip beneath the door. Vader made for it with long, purposeful strides.

The nearer he got, the stronger his heart beat. His stomach—or what remained of his stomach—twisted uncomfortably, turning hard like steel. His mouth, always parched from the flow of sterilized air in the mask, turned dry as bone.

_ I’m anxious _ , Vader realized.  _ But why? Surely this child is not important. _

The Force, ever at his fingertips, whispered to him in its strange, unreadable, lilting tone. It practically hummed against his flesh, caressing his skin and sinew and bone—though no longer was it steeped within him as it once had been.

Vader had long ago learned how to read the portends of the Force. And it screamed at him now—yelled as loudly as it could in his ear, his heart, his bones:  _ This is important _ , it said.  _ Take heed _ .

He reached the door. It slid open before him.

She was sitting half a dozen feet into the room, just as Jak had said. Her back was to him, but at the sound of his entrance she turned her head, looking back over her shoulder. Her dark eyes met his through the eye plates—and a thrill ran through what remained of the flesh on Vader’s back.

_ She has Her eyes, _ he thought absurdly, before crushing that thought.  _ No, _ he told himself sternly.  _ I killed Her and our unborn child. She was pregnant when she was buried. _

_ But what if… _

Around him, the Force screamed.

But no. _ No. This girl-child,Leia Organa _ —for this was Leia Organa, of that Vader had no doubt— _851 is not Her child._

Vader turned and left. He was tired, he told himself. He needed time in his regeneration chamber. He was not fleeing from the sight of Leia Organa’s eyes.

But he knew he was lying to himself.

~oOo~

That night, Leia dreamed.

She was standing in a small room, the roof domed and made of alabaster adobe, the walls hung with a child’s posters of pods and speeders. A miniature model of a TIE fighter stood on the squat dresser shoved into a corner, and a mobile of tiny starfighters hung over the low-slung bed. A window high in the wall let in slanting, early morning sunlight.

A boy was lying in the bed, his sandy hair mussed from sleep, his eyes shut tight. Leia turned and looked down at him, and felt as if an eternity stretched between them.

“I know you,” Leia whispered to his slumbering form. “I’ve dreamed of you.”

The boy opened his eyes. They were as blue as infinity.

He looked at her. “I know you,” he said softly, sitting up, then standing. His pants were ragged and threadbare, stretching a good inch above his ankles, and his shirt had a hole in the hem. He smiled, and reached a hand out to her, palm up, fingers outstretched. “I’ve dreamed of you.”

Hesitantly, Leia put her hand out, reaching for him. She smiled, and their fingers touched.

~oOo~

The next day at lunch there were only four trays.

Leia frowned, and watched as her four trainers sat down with their trays of food and began eating. After a few bites, Ninth Brother stood and crossed to her, kneeling down in front of where she was sitting.

“You practice with us for, say, an hour,” he said, “and you’ll get lunch. How does that sound?”

Leia’s stomach rumbled. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m fine.”

Ninth Brother cocked his head to one side, looking at Leia with a puzzled, complicated expression. “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “You’re hurting yourself by this act of rebellion.”

“My Papá was fighting the Emperor. He’s gone,” her voice hitched at that, the last word bubbling up from her throat as if she didn’t even fully understand it, “which means I have to fight him.”

“But why?” Ninth Brother asked.

“Because he’s a bad man,” Leia said.

“He’s not a bad man,” Ninth Brother said. “He just wants what’s best for you.”

“Will I hurt people?” Leia asked.

Ninth Brother hesitated. But then he nodded. “You might. But that’s the price you pay for serving the glorious Empire.”

“Then I don’t want to serve the Empire,” Leia said. She pursed her lips, then added, “I don’t think I ever did.”

“That’s traitorous talk,” Ninth Brother warned.

“I don’t care,” Leia retorted. 

“You should.”

“Why?” Leia asked.

“Because you could be hurt for talk like that.”

“And what’s my other choice?”

“You serve the Empire and the Emperor.”

Leia shook her head. “I won’t.”

“You will,” Ninth Brother said. “Or we’ll hurt you.”

He said it so matter-of-fact that Leia almost missed what he meant. Then the full weight of what he said sunk in.

“How?” she asked, very quietly.

“I don’t know yet,” Ninth Brother said. “But we will get you to train, one way or another. You  _ will _ serve the Empire.”

Leia swallowed the lump in her throat. Suddenly there was a lot more at stake than there had been before.

Was she willing to face pain for the sake of her father? For the sake of fighting the Emperor?

He was a bad man. And doing what he wanted would mean that she was going to hurt people. She would be his weapon, and that weapon would do terrible things. He had said she would bring to heel the Hutts and the Outer Rim. That didn’t sound kind or friendly. No, she was going to be a person of fear and pain and death.

And she didn’t want to be that.

But fighting against that would mean that she would be hurt. Was it worth it?

_ Yes _ , Leia thought.  _ If it means not hurting people. If it means fighting for Papá, I’ll do it. _

Leia looked at Ninth Brother and said, calm and flat, “No I won’t.”

~oOo~

A week later they took away breakfast. 

By dinnertime Leia’s stomach was growling viciously, and she felt as if her stomach was gnawing on her backbone.  _ Feed me _ , it cried, and Leia fell voraciously on the steak and mashed potatoes and oolan beans on the plate offered to her.

The next morning, when she was brought into the practice court, she found that her trainers were eating breakfast there. The smell of poached eggs and griddlecakes slathered with syrup was enough to make Leia’s mouth water and her stomach rumble.

“Agree to train with us for an hour,” Danyil said, coming over to her with a pear in hand, “and we’ll order a tray for you.”

Leia sat down on the ground, crossed her arms, and shook her head.

“Suit yourself,” Danyil said, and returned to the others.

Lunch was much the same. Leia could smell the bacon on their turkey, lettuce, bacon, and cheese sandwiches. Her stomach gave a much louder growl. Leia forced herself to turn away from the sight of them eating; if she kept looking, she was afraid she would cave.

“Just one little exercise,” Thirteenth Sister said. “You’ll get a ripe meiloorun.”

Leia shook her head. “Meilooruns aren’t even in season,” she said airily.

Thirteenth Sister laughed. “They’re always in season somewhere in the galaxy,” she said, but when Leia made no response rolled her eyes and stood. “Have it your way, 851.”

The next day was even worse. Leia practically drooled at breakfast, and by lunchtime she was ready to cry. Dinner the night before had only been a sandwich. The glass of water, which usually accompanied dinner, was also conspicuously absent, leaving her thirsty. The sandwich had barely taken the sharp edge off of her hunger then—twelve hours later and it felt like Leia hadn’t eaten at all.

“All you have to do is stand up and come over to the mats,” Cora cajoled. “We’ll get you a sandwich.”

Leia crossed her arms and shook her head.  _ I won’t give in, Papá, _ she thought. _ I promise. _

The next morning Sixth Sister woke her up earlier than usual.

“Get up, 851,” she snapped, coming into Leia’s room without preamble.

Leia blinked groggily and sat up in bed. “What?” she asked stupidly, wiping sleep from her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“I said get up,” Sixth Sister said again, this time accompanied by a sharp cuff to Leia’s left ear. Leia yelped, startled as much as hurt, and only just caught herself from falling over on the bed. She scrambled out of bed and hurried to change clothes and brush and braid her hair. Sixth Sister watched all the while, a hard, cold expression darkening her eyes and lips.

She led the way to the practice court as usual, Leia trailing doggedly behind her. She was still tired and, while the slap had woken her up, felt on the cusp of sleep. The halls were eerily silent, as if shrouded by the darkness of night.

As usual, Leia’s trainers were already there. They were eating thick peach slices, the juices dripping down their chins and staining their hands.

“Sit down,” Sixth Sister warned, turning and grabbing Leia by the shoulder of her shirt, “and I will beat you ‘til you’re purple. You are going to train today, and you are going to train all day. If you don’t, I will beat you ‘til you’re black. Do you understand me?”

“I won’t,” Leia said stoutly. “I promised Papá I’d fight the Emperor. And I won’t become his weapon. I won’t.”

Sixth Sister slapped her. Leia’s head snapped to the side, and she tasted iron. Probing her lip with her tongue, Leia found that it had split against one of her teeth.

“You will do as I say,” Sixth Sister said. “Or you will be punished.”

Slowly, maintaining eye contact the whole time, Leia sat.

Sixth Sister reached down and grabbed Leia by the shirt collar. Dragging her to her feet, Sixth Sister made a fist, and punched her in the nose. Leia felt the bone break. Blood gushed down her lip and into her mouth andover her chin.

“You  _ will _ train,” Sixth Sister said.

“I won’t,” Leia said, and spat out the blood pooling in her mouth. spitting blood as she spoke.

Sixth Sister dropped her in surprise and horror, quickly wiping away the speckles of Leia’s blood that dotted her lips and cheeks. “You little bitch,” she snarled, and delivered a sharp kick to Leia’s stomach.

All the breath rushed from Leia’s lungs and for a second all she could do was gasp like a fish on land. When she did finally manage to drag in a breath, she choked on the blood in her mouth. She coughed, retched, and coughed again.

“Get up,” Sixth Sister ordered.

“No.” 

Sixth Sister kicked her again.

“I won’t,” Leia said, voice hitched with the first taste of a sob.

“Get up, 851.”

“My name’s Leia.”

Sixth Sister reached down and hauled Leia upright. “Your designation is 851, little girl,” she said, voice dead and cold like ice. “Say it.”

“No,” Leia said.

Sixth Sister punched her in the mouth. More blood joined that already staining Leia’s lips scarlet.

“Say it.”

“No,” Leia wailed.

Sixth Sister punched her in the stomach. Leia gagged and vomited. It was mostly bile, and it landed on Sixth Sister’s pants and boots.

“Ugh,” she yelled, throwing Leia down. Leia hit the floor hard, one hand trapped beneath her. The bone snapped. Leia screamed, turning over onto her back so she could cradle her crooked wrist.

Sixth Sister laughed.

“Say it, 851. What is your designation?”

“Leia,” Leia sobbed.

A kick. “Say your designation.”

“Leia.”

Another kick. Leia sobbed harder, half of the breath stolen from her lungs.

“What is your designation?” 

“Leia.” It was a gasp as much as a name.

Sixth Sister leaned down, grabbed the front of Leia’s shirt, and yanked her to her feet. Leia stumbled, startled, and barely caught herself, left arm held close to her chest.

“Say your designation,” Sixth Sister said.

“Leia.”

Sixth Sister smiled. It was a cold, cruel smile. “We’ll do this until you answer me right,” she said, and slapped Leia across the cheek. “Now what’s your designation?”

“Leia.”

Sixth Sister slapped her other cheek. “What’s your designation?”

A pause. Then, softly, “Leia.”

This time Sixth Sister punched her in the chest. Leia coughed and gasped, spluttering as blood trickled down her esophagus. “What is your  _ designation _ ?”

“851.”

Sixth Sister smiled,  triumphant. “Good girl,” she said, and reaching down, patted Leia on the cheek. “Now say it again.”

Leia gritted her teeth, then said, “851.”

“Good,” Sixth Sister said again. “Now, go over to your trainers, who’ve been more than patient while you learned your name, and ask them to train you.”

“No,” Leia said quietly.

“No?” Sixth Sister said, just as softly. Her voice, however, was the dangerous kind of calm—the kind of calm preceding a violent storm, the kind of calm of the ocean’s undertow, the kind of calm before the mountain cat strikes.

“I won’t be the Emperor’s pawn.”

“Big words for such a little thing,” Sixth Sister said with a slow smile that cut her face like a scythe. “Is that your final answer?”

“Yes.”

“All right then.”

The first blow was harder than any blow previous. Leia shrieked in pain as she fell back, broken nose broken again, unable to break her fall. She landed hard on her back, only for Sixth Sister to drag her upright again. A second punch, then a third landed on her face, blacking both her eyes and splitting her lip for a third time.

Sixth Sister shoved Leia to the ground and, with savagery in her smile, kicked Leia in the stomach, in the chest, in the groin. Leia screamed when she could, the sound choked off by blood and her lungs spasming in pain. She curled around her stomach and her broken wrist, trying to protect her body.

“That’s not going to protect you, 851,” Sixth Sister crooned, and kicked Leia in the face.

The bone in Leia’s jaw crunched. She tried to scream, only for agony to rise up and over her, crashing through her mouth and face like a tidal wave. The scream died even as it began.

“How does it feel, 851? Do you enjoy the feeling of denial? Of refusal? Of treachery?”

Leia lay on the ground and cried, silent and desperate, her tears cutting tracks through the blood staining her face. Both of her eyes were mostly swollen shut, the entire lower half of her face smeared scarlet that traced down her neck and stained the top of her shirt.

“Learn this lesson well,” Sixth Sister said, “and don’t deny the Emperor again.”

With that, she kicked Leia in the temple, and Leia knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know the drill by now. If I get good feedback I'll probably post Sunday, otherwise it'll be a week. I look forward to hearing from you!


	10. Part 1: Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm a few days late getting this out. My beta was unexpectedly busy this weekend, and wasn't able to get it back to me until late last night. I was too tired then to upload it then, and crashed instead... So here we are now.
> 
> I'm sorry I haven't replied to comments from last chapter. I'll do so tomorrow.
> 
> As always, huge thanks to princes-sansa-of-ithilien and absynthe--minded for all their help. And remember, you can always hit me up at my tumblr, weary-hearted-queen.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER 9

Leia opened her eyes and found herself standing at the top of a sand dune. Sunset spread out before her in a glorious conflagration of orange and gold and crimson. The heaven’s first sun was only a sliver of light above the horizon, while its twin rested a few minutes above the fire-kissed sand.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

Leia turned to see Shmi sitting on the dune, her legs folded gracefully beneath her. Her eyes were dark pools of shadow against the darkening sky behind her, her hair painted black against the first stars peering forth.

Leia nodded. “It is,” she said, then crossed to sit down opposite Shmi, tucking her legs beneath her in a mirror to the older woman. “Why am I here?” Leia asked.

A frown darkened Shmi’s kind face. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?” Leia asked.

“What happened before you awoke here.”

Leia shook her head. 

“Let me help you,” Shmi said, and reached out to brush her fingers against Leia’s cheek. “Close your eyes,” she instructed. “Now think back…”

Leia obediently closed her eyes. For a long moment there was only darkness pierced by the sound of her heartbeat and the feel of the warm sand beneath her. Then—a flash of thought. A fraction of an image. A glimpse of a sight she knew she had seen, tinged with terror. 

Sixth Sister stared down at her, face curled into a sneer, scarlet blood flecking her chin. Her fingers were coiled into a fist, arm upraised and ready to strike.

Then, pain.

Leia cried out, jerking away from Shmi’s touch and lifting a hand to deflect a blow that never fell. Phantom pain spirited through her, lurking for a moment in her jaw, her chest, her wrist before fading away like the light from the sky overhead.

She opened her eyes, gasping against the pain now gone, against the fear bleeding away like water washing away a stain. “What—” she began, only to fail at finding the words to describe what she had just felt.

“Do you remember why you were beaten?” Shmi asked. “Think, Leia,” she added, tone grim and expression somber. “This is important.”

Leia thought.

“I said my name was Leia,” she said slowly. “And then I wouldn’t go train.”

Shmi nodded. “Good,” she said. “I’m proud of you, Leia.”

Leia frowned. “Why?” she asked.

“It takes bravery to stand up for what you believe in.”

“What do you mean?”

“You wanted to fight the Emperor, didn’t you?” Shmi asked.

Leia nodded. “For Papá. Because he can’t do it anymore.”

Shmi smiled, though her eyes remained dark. “And you were punished for that.”

Leia shuddered, remembering again Sixth Sister’s sneer, her upraised arm, the pain in her body.

“Was it worth it?” Shmi asked her.

“Was what worth it?”

“Fighting against the Emperor and against Sixth Sister, who beat you for not obeying.”

Leia looked down at the sand beneath her knees. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I...I don’t want to be hurt. But I don’t want the Emperor to win.” She looked up at Shmi, eyes wide and pleading. “What should I do?”

“I won’t tell you that,” Shmi said. “But I will say this: If the Emperor wins—if you stop fighting him, even for a second—you will turn into a force of Darkness the likes of which the galaxy has rarely seen. You will hurt people, and you will kill people, and you will wreak destruction.”

“Then...” Leia said, trailing off and sounding very small. “Then I have to keep fighting. I...I don’t want to become that.”

Shmi reached out and gripped Leia’s shoulder. “Then fight him,” she said. “Fight him, and don’t  _ stop _ fighting him—not even for a second. It will hurt. You will be scared, and terrible things will happen. But don’t stop fighting.”

Leia took a deep breath. “For Papá,” she said. Then, smaller, she added, “For me.”

Shmi smiled. “I’m proud of you, Leia. I never, ever want you to forget that.” Leaning forward, she pressed a gentle kiss to Leia’s forehead. 

Leia sighed, and woke.

~oOo~

Leia blinked her eyes open to a while ceiling. It was a very familiar sight.

_ Why am I back in the Medical Wing? _ she wondered, looking around her. The same white walls and gleaming floor that she had grown to know over the last two weeks stared back.  _ Was it all just a dream? A nightmare? _

She moved to sit up, expecting to feel the tug of binders on her left wrist. Instead, unexpected pain arced through her body, starting in her chest and radiating outward. Leia fell back with a gasp, aching and hurting with a deep, echoing pain. Her jaw throbbed as it moved.

“Easy there, 851,” came a familiar voice.

Leia looked up and saw Dr. Ammit standing in the door. He looked worried, a crease pressed between his eyebrows, his lips pressed into a thin, narrow frown. He was holding a datapad, which he tucked into a pocket of his lab coat as he stepped into the room.

“What happened?” Leia asked, afraid.

Dr. Ammit’s frown deepened, darkening his eyes. “Do you not remember?”

“I remember Sixth Sister,” Leia said slowly. “She was trying to get me to say that my name was 851. And then...and then…” Leia closed her eyes, memory washing over her. She sniffled, tears unexpectedly coming to her eyes.

Dr. Ammit sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to wipe away the tears trickling down Leia’s cheeks. “Here now, 851,” he said softly, “what’s this?”

“Why did she hurt me?” Leia asked through her growing sobs. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You defied the Emperor,” Dr. Ammit pointed out. “It’s his wish that you be trained, and you refused.”

“But why did she hurt me?”

“The Emperor is not a kind man, 851,” Dr. Ammit said. “Frankly, I’m a little surprised your trainers held off on corporal punishment for as long as they did.”

“It hurts,” Leia said, now sobbing openly.

“I know,” Dr. Ammit said. “You really should have had another six hours in the bacta tank, and I’ve been ordered not to give you any pain-killers.”

“But why?”

Dr. Ammit shook his head. “The Emperor is angry that you’ve defied him. He hopes that this will have taught you better. It  _ has _ taught you better, hasn’t it?”

Leia looked up at him, eyes wide and wet. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

She remembered Shmi sitting on the sand, her dark eyes intense. She remembered the stars as they flickered into sight in the night sky behind her. She remembered the twin suns couched in conflagration. She remembered Shmi’s final words, warning her what she would become if she gave in to Palpatine.

Slowly, Leia shook her head. Her tears were dry, but for the stickiness they had left on her cheeks. “No,” she said quietly. “No, I do know.”

“And?” Dr. Ammit pressed when Leia didn’t elaborate.

Leia shook her head again. “No,” she said. “I can’t—I can’t do it. I can’t let him win.”

“He’s going to win, 851,” Dr. Ammit said, kind voice belying his words. “It’s just a matter of when and how much you suffer first.”

“I don’t care,” Leia said, though she did. She shuddered, remembering the crunch of breaking bone as Sixth Sister kicked her in the jaw.

“You can’t win, 851.”

“Yes,” Leia said stubbornly. “I can. He’ll...he’ll give up, once he realizes he won’t be able to win.”

“No. He won’t.”

“He’ll have to,” Leia said.

“No,” Dr. Ammit said again, firmer. “He doesn’t. He will  _ break _ you, 851.”

“Why won’t you use my name?” Leia cried, frustrated.

“I am,” Dr. Ammit replied calmly.

“No,” Leia said. “My name is  _ Leia _ . Not 851.”

Dr. Ammit shook his head sadly. “851, you’re mistaken. You don’t  _ have _ a name. Only a designation.”

“But...” Leia said, pleading. “But  _ no _ . It’s Leia. My name is Leia. Mamá and Papá named me Leia.”

“That  _ was _ your name,” Dr. Ammit said. “But not anymore. Now your designation is 851.”

For the first time since Sixth Sister had told her she was 851, Leia questioned whether it was true. “But,” she said again, voice very small. “But why don’t I have a name anymore?”

“Oh 851,” Dr. Ammit sighed. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m smart,” Leia said.

Dr. Ammit smiled. “That you are.” He hesitated, then said, “Okay.

“Right now, you are at the beginning of your training. You need to learn to run, and jump, and fight with your fists and feet. You need to learn the basics of lightsaber use. Until you learn those things, you are nothing. You are less than nothing. You are worthless to the Emperor. And so you are no one. You haven’t earned the right to have a name, because you aren’t a person.”

Leia began to cry again. “But I...aren’t I a person?” she asked. “I’m alive. So I’m a person.”

“You’re a sentient, yes. But you aren’t a person. Not anymore; not yet.”

“When will I be?”

“When the Emperor decides you are. That’s another reason you should obey and train—once you do, the Emperor will decide that you’re worthy of a name again.”

Leia sniffed.  _ “It will hurt. You will be scared, and terrible things will happen.” _ That was what Shmi had said.

_ She was right _ , Leia thought.  _ It does hurt. _

“851?”

Leia looked up at Dr. Ammit, wiping away the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“What are you going to do?”

_ “You will hurt people,” _ Shmi had said.  _ “You will turn into a force of Darkness the likes of which the galaxy has rarely seen.” _

_ I don’t want to become that, _ Leia thought.  _ But is it worth it? _ She had thought so.

But did she still?

_ “For Papá,” _ she had said.  _ “For me.” _

Did she still want that?

She closed her eyes against the tears, and saw Twelfth Brother’s eyes, his lightsaber, the bodies of the men and women she had known since birth sprawled across the floor of her bedroom. She saw her father standing on the windowseat, a knife buried to the hilt in his chest. She saw the window shattering, saw her father falling, falling, falling. She saw blood on the flowers.

_ I’ll do it for _ Papá, Leia thought. _Maybe not for me...but for Papá. And maybe for the people I’d hurt if I gave in._

“851?” Dr. Ammit said again.

Leia opened her eyes and looked at him, somber and grim. She shook her head.

“I can’t do it,” she said. “I have to fight. I can’t stop fighting. If I do, bad things will happen.”

“Bad things will happen if you keep fighting,” Dr. Ammit reminded her. There was a strange note in the corners of his words. If Leia had not known better, she would have thought it was desperation.

Maybe it  _ was _ desperation.

She shook her head again. “It’ll be worse if I don’t.”

Dr. Ammit sighed. “I hope you change your mind,” he said, and patted her knee beneath the blanket spread over Leia’s lap. “But I know when I’m beaten.” He did not smile at her, but there was something in his eyes that said he wanted to. “I will see you later, 851.”

Then he stood, and left the room. Leia watched him go, feeling cold and empty and scared, uncertain if she had made the right choice. The door closed—then opened again, admitting a Stormtrooper, who took up a position by it.

Leia sighed and laid back against the flat pillow, closing her eyes again. She conjured to mind the desert, with the twin suns and the stars, and Shmi kneeling in the sand. She was safe there—safe and warm and certain. She wanted to be those things again.

She needed to be those things again, if she was going to fight. And she  _ was _ going to fight.

~oOo~

Two days later, Leia was escorted from the Medical Wing and back to her room in the building that felt like death. They left her there, without food and without water, for what felt like a week, but was probably only a day or two.

Leia spent the time pacing up and down the small room, and by laying in bed and memorizing the lines and swirls of the stucco on the ceiling. She also slept, fitful and filled with nebulous, uncomfortable dreams that left her tired and aching when she woke. 

By the time Sixth Sister came for her, Leia was more than ready to accompany her to the practice court, if only for a change of scenery.  _ At least, _ Leia thought more than once,  _ it was better than white walls and floor and ceiling. _

“Go to Cora,” Sixth Sister instructed when she and Leia entered the practice court. Cora was the closest of her trainers, standing with her arms crossed and a frown stamped onto her face.

Leia sat.

Sixth Sister turned when she saw that Leia wasn’t obeying. “Get up,” she ordered. “Go to Cora.”

“No,” Leia said, trying to sound certain—trying to hide the fear she felt.

“I told you to get up and go to Cora,” Sixth Sister said again.

“No.”

Sixth Sister crossed to her and, leaning down, slapped her across the face, splitting Leia’s lip. Blood dripped down her chin and stained her teeth scarlet.

“Don’t make me beat you again,” Sixth Sister warned.

Leia glared and crossed her arms. “I’m not getting up.”

Sixth Sister slapped her again. Leia cried out, falling to the side and barely catching herself before she went sprawling. She picked herself back up, cheek stinging and already beginning to purple, and fixed Sixth Sister with a hard stare that was as much challenge as glare.

The beating Sixth Sister delivered was severe, but this time Leia remained conscious through the end of it. When it was done, Leia picked herself up from where she had been knocked to the ground, face bloody and bruised, cradling her broken right arm to her chest.

“Get up,” Sixth Sister ordered.

“No,” Leia said stubbornly, voice thick with pain. Blood leaked from the corner of her mouth, running in a curved rivulet to drip from her chin.

Sixth Sister bent and grabbed Leia by the hair. “You  _ will _ go to Cora, if I have to drag you there myself.”

Leia screamed in pain as it felt like her hair was ripped from her scalp. She kicked her feet against the ground as Sixth Sister dragged her across the floor, trying to find purchase enough to stand to ease the pain.

Sixth Sister tossed her the last few paces to land at Cora’s feet. “Here,” she said, looking at Cora. “I’ve brought you 851.”

“Finally,” Cora said, and knelt down to meet Leia’s eyes. “851, it’s time to begin your training.”

“No,” Leia said. “I won’t.”

“And why not?” Cora asked, voice as cold as her silver eyes. Her long, blonde hair was gathered into a savage ponytail, and her lips were painted a bright red, accenting the paleness of her skin.

“Because I won’t let the Emperor win,” Leia said through a mouthful of blood. “I have to fight him.”

“Why is that?”

“Because,” Leia began, only for a silent warning that rose in her throat to steal her words away.  _ Don’t tell them _ , a silent voice whispered to her. It sounded like the sand and suns and sky of the desert she had dreamed of.  _ If they know, they will destroy you. _

“Because I have to,” was all she said in the end. “I just have to.”

They dragged her by her broken arm to the mats. Leia screamed, and cried when they let her go.

“Stand up,” Danyil said, coming to stand over her.

Leia laid on the ground and sobbed, from pain and desperation and fear.

Danyil bent and seized Leia beneath the arms. He hoisted her up, placed her on her feet. Leia let her legs go weak and she flopped back down to the ground. Danyil kicked her, and tried again. Again Leia sank to the ground, still crying.

“If you get up and stretch with us,” Cora said, standing on Leia’s other side, “we’ll take you to the Medical Wing to get patched up. If you don’t, we’ll leave you hurt and bleeding.”

Leia remained on the ground.

An hour later, Sixth Sister appeared again in the doorway to the practice court. Only then did Leia realize she had gone. 

“Come,” she ordered Leia. When Leia didn’t obey, she crossed to the mat and, seizing Leia by the hand of her broken arm, dragged her to her feet.

Running to keep up to protect her arm, Leia followed Sixth Sister out of the practice court and back to her room. The door slid open and Sixth Sister pushed her through.

“Think about your decision to fight against the Emperor,” she ordered, standing in the doorway. “Think about your decision to rebel. I’ll be back for you tomorrow.” Then the door closed, sealing Leia in the room with her fear and pain.

Leia did think about her choice to rebel. She lay on her bed, broken arm propped up on her chest, and stared at the ceiling and thought. She thought of Shmi, and of the desert. She thought of Sixth Sister, and Cora, and Danyil. She thought of Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister, who had stood off to the side and watched. She thought of the pain throbbing through her body.

_ I can’t give in _ , she decided again.  _ And I’m going to keep deciding that. _

And then a horrible thought crossed her mind:  _ Is Shmi even real? Or is she just a dream? _

Leia closed her eyes against her doubt.  _ She’s real _ , she tried to tell herself.  _ I know she’s real. She’s not just a dream. _

_ But is she? _

Leia squeezed her eyes tight.  _ It feels so real when I’m there, _ she tells herself.  _ Too real to just be a dream. _

And, behind her closed eyes, the desert began to form. Sand dunes erupted from the darkness. Twin suns beam down from above. Heat rippled through the air above the ground. And Shmi—Shmi appeared in a valley made by the dunes, her homespun clothes rippling in an unseen wind that shifted and eddied the sand around her feet.

_ “You are already growing stronger,” _ Shmi said, though her lips did not move. Her voice sounded like sand and suns and blue, blue sky.

Leia remembered the eyes of the boy she dreamed of.

_ “Be careful, Leia,” _ Shmi added.  _ “Your strength will be used against you. You must hide it. Never tell them about me, or about the desert in you.” _

~oOo~

As she had promised, Sixth Sister came the next morning. The windows in the exercise rooms to either side of the hall, Leia saw as she trailed behind Sixth Sister, showed only the black shade of predawn night. The lights in the practice court were blazing, however, dispelling the darkness and throwing the world into bright day.

“Are you going to cooperate today?” Sixth Sister asked, turning to look at Leia once they were through the door.

“No,” Leia said, and sat.

Sixth Sister sighed, and broke Leia’s other arm.

Leia spent that night wide awake, the pain in her arms and in her chest—Sixth Sister had later broken two of her ribs, and Leia could feel the ends of the bone grate together whenever she moved—keeping sleep far from her. Instead she closed her eyes and imagined the desert—imagined the fading warmth of the sand, the brightness of the stars shining out of the velvet sky, the cold night wind. Shmi, however, did not appear.

The next day dawned even earlier. Sixth Sister collected her, and brought her to the practice court. Leia sat as usual, but instead of trying to force her to train, Sixth Sister sat down opposite her and asked bluntly, “What is your designation?”

Leia opened her mouth to reply with her name—only to fall abruptly silent. She remembered her conversation with Dr. Ammit, remembered how he had told her that she was nothing, that she was less than nothing. That she was useless to the Emperor.

She  _ wanted _ to be useless to the Emperor. Didn’t she? So why didn’t she accept that she was nothing? Dr. Ammit had been right, hadn’t he? She  _ was _ nothing. Her father was dead. No one was coming to save her. She was here, under the thumb of the Inquisitors and the Imperial officers, to train and be trained. She was no one—had become no one the moment Aunt Mon and Master Carlist and everyone else had abandoned her to the Emperor. 

She was no one.

She was just a number.

“I’m 851,” she said softly, both arms resting in her lap.

“Say that again,” Sixth Sister said, “louder.”

“I’m 851,” Leia said again, obediently louder.

Sixth Sister smiled. “Good girl,” she said. And, standing, she led Leia out of the practice court and out of the building, across the courtyard, and to the Medical Wing.

Dr. Ammit was waiting. He smiled when he saw Leia, though his eyes remained cold, and he brought her to a small room where he helped her change into a loose, white shift. Sitting her down, he stretched her arms out straight and, with a kind word and a steadying hand, set both of the bones. Then he brought her to a large room with a bacta tank standing at the center, fitted a breathing mask over her head, and helped her climb in.

For a moment all Leia saw was bubbles through the thick, gel-like liquid. Then the sedative in the bacta began to set in, seeping through her skin and into her bloodstream. She blinked once, twice—and then slept.

~oOo~

Leia opened her eyes to a golden beach and waves upon waves of crystal blue water. She turned, feet in the shallows, and looked up to see a magnificent house sitting over the water. Green, domed roofs rose up over verandas and walls filled with arched windows. Steps led from the beach up to a walled garden, which in turn led onto a balcony.

“It’s been a long time.”

Leia whirled, startled by the voice, and found herself staring into blue, blue eyes and a smiling, open face. “It’s you,” she gasped.

The boy smiled. “It’s you,” he echoed. Slowly, tentatively, he reached a hand out toward her, palm up, fingers outstretched. It was the same movement as the last time Leia had dreamed of him.

Without hesitating, Leia reached out and took his hand. It felt like rain on a spring day, like shade in summer, like fire in winter. It felt perfect.

“It’s been a long time,” the boy said again.

Leia nodded. “I’d almost forgotten you,” she admitted softly, shamefully. “It’s been years since I thought of you—years since I dreamed of you. Until the other night.”

“I almost forgot you too,” the boy said, and squeezed her hand. “But I’m glad I didn’t.”

“I’m glad too,” Leia said. She looked into his blue, blue eyes, and quickly brushed his sandy hair off of his forehead. “You should cut your hair,” she told him abruptly.

The boy laughed. “Aunt Beru keeps saying she needs to,” he said. He reached up a hand and ruffled it through his shaggy tresses, which were trying to curl at the ends. “I kinda like it.”

“It makes you look like a nerfherder,” Leia said.

“A what?”

“A nerfherder. You know, nerfs—big, woolly animals with horns? They live in the mountains, and eat grass…”

The boy shook his head. “There isn’t any grass in the mountains here. Just rock and sand.”

Leia pulled a face. “Those don’t sound like very good mountains, then,” she said.

The boy shrugged. “It’s what we’ve got.”

Tugging on her hand, the boy pulled Leia around, and began to walk. Leia quickly caught up with him, then fell in step beside him. For a long moment they simply walked, hand-in-hand, ankles kissed by the gently lapping waves, content in each other’s presence and the silence between them.

Finally, Leia admitted softly, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” the boy said.

They had played together here when they were little kids, in the water and in the garden and through the dizzying number of rooms in the house. He had bandaged her knee when she’d scraped it on a stone plinth in the garden, and she had washed his hand when he cut it on a counter in the kitchen. They had been knights and Jedi and Prince and Princess, and they had ruled their little world with benevolence and joy.

Somehow, though, everything felt different now to Leia, as if their old world of happiness and make-believe was gone, replaced with something darker and older. There were shadows where she didn’t remember shade, and cracks where there had once been smooth sandstone.

“Does it feel different to you?” she asked the boy suddenly.

“Hm?” he asked. “What do you mean?”

“This place,” Leia said. “Does it feel different?”

The boy was quiet for a minute. Then he nodded. “I think,” he said, “that may be because we’re older.”

“Maybe,” Leia said, not entirely convinced. 

They were nearing the place where the house swept down to join the lake, and Leia came to a halt. The boy turned to look at her, a question in his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Leia looked at him—and shook her head. 

_ Don’t trust them, _ Shmi had told her. She had never said not to trust  _ him _ . And Leia found that she trusted this sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy completely.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Leia blurted out.

The boy frowned.

“They took my name, and are telling me to do things I don’t want to do, and he’s scary and trying to make me into something I don’t want to be, and Papá…” Leia choked on the words, and fell silent. To her frustration, tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” the boy said, lifting his free hand and gripping her shoulder. 

Leia shook her head. “But it’s not,” she said, and two silent tears slipped out and down her cheeks.

The boy pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. “I’ll be here,” he offered. 

“Promise?”

“I promise,” the boy said.

Leia buried her face in his shoulder and nodded. “Okay,” she said, voice very small.

“I have to go now,” the boy said. “Uncle Owen is waking me up.”

Leia nodded.

“Let’s meet again soon though.”

Leia nodded again.

The boy smiled. “See you,” he said, and was gone.

~oOo~

“The Emperor is ready to speak with you.”

Sixth Sister looked up at the Emperor’s secretary, Katalina, resplendent in blue and gold, her hair piled atop her head in pinned and coiled ringlets. Sixth Sister fought to contain the sneer that threatened to crawl up her lips; she hated gaudy displays of beauty and luxury—two things that Katalina manifested tenfold.

Rising, Sixth Sister pushed past Katalina toward the door to the Emperor’s office. For a moment, she felt Katalina’s eyes on her back—hard and hateful and disapproving. It was vindicating, Sixth Sister thought, that Katalina hated her as much as she hated Katalina.

The door to the Emperor’s office opened at Sixth Sister’s approach. She strode through, confident and secure, her lightsaber—the symbol of her office and position within the Empire—hitting her thigh with every step. 

It was an intoxicating feeling, approaching her Emperor and Master with the weight of her lightsaber on her hip.

“Welcome, Sixth Sister,” her Master said. His face was, as usual, hidden by a cowl, which cast his features into shadow as dark as the room’s decor. He sat behind his desk, elbows resting on the armrests of his high-backed chair, fingers steepled before him. “Tell me how my new Hand is doing.”

Sixth Sister bowed, then took a seat in one of the chairs facing her Master’s desk. “She still resists,” she admitted. The taste of her defeat was ash on her tongue. “But today she said that her designation was 851 with little prompting.”

“Good,” her Master said, nodding. “Yet still, you say she resists?”

“Yes, Master,” Sixth Sister said. “The corporal punishment was not as effective as we hoped.”

“Hmm,” her Master hummed, the sound cracked and broken.

“What would you like me to do now?” Sixth Sister asked.

“Continue with the beatings,” her Master said. “She can only endure so much before she breaks.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And I will speak with Amareus this afternoon,” her Master added. “She trusts him. He will continue to talk with her about her resistance.”

Sixth Sister bowed her head. “As you say, my Master.”

Her Master flapped one of his hands. “Go on now. Report back to me once she returns from the Medical Wing.”

Sixth Sister stood and bowed again. “As you say, my Master,” she said again, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter's not done yet. I'm afraid I've run into some good ol' writer's block. I'm hoping that getting some good feedback from you guys will be enough to jumpstart my creativity - so if you want to help me out, please leave a review? I'll try to have the chapter done by Sunday at the latest...but I can make no promises.


	11. Part 1: Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping to get this out yesterday, but my beta was busy, so today it was. 
> 
> I have massive writer's block right now, so I don't know when the next chapter is going to be finished. I'm hoping next Sunday - though some encouragement may help with the writer's block. So (as usual, just this time I'm asking out of necessity rather than desire), if you want to see the next chapter sooner rather than later, maybe think about leaving a review?
> 
> Most importantly, though, is that I hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER 10

The next month passed in a haze of pain and frustration for Leia. She visited the Medical Wing seven more times, and each time Dr. Ammit tried to convince her to stop fighting the Emperor and to train. Each time Leia refused, the memory of Shmi and her warning loud and clear in her mind.

As the days passed, Leia found that the pain inflicted by Sixth Sister held less power over her. She learned how to push it aside, how to go elsewhere in her thoughts where the pain could not touch her. While it still kept her up at night, leaving her tired and cranky the next morning, she learned how to let her thoughts drift to places full of peace, where she was free of the Inquisitors and their beatings and her hunger.

Shmi only visited her once more, after Sixth Sister delivered a particularly brutal lesson.

“I am proud of you,” she told Leia, gathering her close in a tight hug. Leia went willingly, sniffling back tears, and she buried her face in Shmi’s shoulder. She smelled of jasmine and dry, desert air.

“Why haven’t you come to see me?” Leia asked into Shmi’s shoulder.

“Because you didn’t need me,” Shmi replied. “You’ve been fighting and learning and growing all on your own.”

“But I don’t want to do it on my own,” Leia said.

“Some things you must do yourself,” Shmi told her. “I am here to encourage and support you—but I can’t fight for you, and I can’t carry you. You must fight, and win, your own battles.”

“Why are they hurting me?” Leia asked, small and sad and scared.

“Because they think that will break you,” Shmi told her.

“Oh.”

A beat. Then, “You’re so strong, Leia,” Shmi said. “You’re so brave.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Leia replied.

“But you are.”

“I don’t know how long I can say no,” Leia admitted softly.

“Just take it one day at a time,” Shmi told her.

Leia nodded against her shoulder. “Okay.”

Leia also dreamed about the boy again. They explored the garden, telling each other about their planets—the boy talked about a great planet that orbited so close to its sun that the whole surface was desert, the equator uninhabitable because of the heat; Leia told him about the mountains and the oceans of Alderaan, and the city that had been her home—then they went into the house and remembered their games and laughter from when they had played there as little children.

“I can’t believe I’ve never asked you this before, but what’s your name?” the boy asked, just as Leia felt the first tuggings of wakefulness pull at her mind and body.

“I’m L—” She cut herself off. What did she tell this boy? The name her parents had given her, or what she was now? “I’m 851,” she said finally, softly.

The boy frowned. “That’s not a name.”

“It’s my designation,” Leia said.

“Well do you have another name?” the boy asked. “What about the one your mom and dad gave you?”

“Leia,” Leia said, even softer. “That’s what Mamá and Papá named me.”

“Then that’s what I’ll call you,” the boy said. He grinned. “And I’m Luke.”

“Luke,” Leia said, tasting the name on her tongue. It seemed perfect—seemed right, somehow, as if she had known his name the whole time. She smiled then. “Thank you, Luke.”

“For what?”

Leia shrugged. “For everything, I guess.”

Luke shrugged. “Sure,” he said, though he sounded like he still didn’t understand.

“Will I see you again, Luke?” Leia asked. The pull on her body was stronger now, and it was taking nearly all of her concentration to stay there.

“Yes,” Luke said, and stepping forward he gave her a quick hug. “Bye,” he said.

“Bye,” Leia said, still smiling.

Then, as the month ended and a new one began, something changed.

“Here,” Sixth Sister said one morning, and pressed a cup of water into Leia’s hands. “Drink.”

Leia obeyed warily, taking one careful sip then another. The water tasted funny—sweeter than usual, and heavy—but when Leia tried to stop drinking, Sixth Sister threatened, “Drink it, or I will hold you down and pour it down your throat myself.” Leia drank.

When Sixth Sister led Leia into the practice court fifteen minutes later, Leia was surprised to see that her usual trainers were gone. Instead there was only one man standing there, his hands clasped behind his back, his face settled into a grim frown.

He was tall and grey-skinned, his forehead pronounced, his skin—much like Sixth Sister’s—stretched taut over too much bone. His eyes were sunk deep into his skull, forming hollow shadows, and there were red markings beneath them and on his forehead. He was dressed all in black and grey, with pauldrons and a half-breastplate burned with the Imperial crest.

“Hello, 851,” he said. His voice was rich and smooth, like oil.

Leia eyed him warily. What was he doing here? Where were Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister, Danyil and Cora?

“I am the Grand Inquisitor,” the tall man said. “You will address me as such, or as sir. Am I understood?”

Leia nodded.

“I didn’t hear you,” the Grand Inquisitor said.

“Yes, sir,” Leia said cautiously.

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “Come here, 851,” he ordered.

Leia sat.

“Sixth Sister?” he said. “Bring her to me.”

Sixth Sister grabbed Leia by the hair and dragged her to him. Leia yelped, reaching up and grasping at Sixth Sister’s hand and wrist, kicking her feet against the floor, trying to rise to ease the pain in her scalp. When they neared Grand Inquisitor, Sixth Sister heaved and threw Leia at his feet.

“Thank you, Sixth Sister,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “You may go.”

Sixth Sister bowed and left.

“Stand up, 851.”

Leia sat up, crossed her arms, and glared. Her head hurt, and her mouth felt like cotton, and she did not like the way the Grand Inquisitor felt—slick and sharp, like knives hidden beneath satin.

“Stand up, 851, or I will make you stand up.”

Leia did not move.

The Grand Inquisitor raised a hand and flicked his fingers.

Strong bands of pure power, hard like durasteel and smooth like glass, wrapped themselves around Leia’s chest. The Grand Inquisitor made a motion with his hand, and the bands of power constricted, then lifted, hoisting Leia to her feet.

She struggled. Thrashing, she tried to rip the bands off of her, scratching and pulling at her clothes, her skin. Nothing worked. She kicked her legs and twisted her body, but to no avail. Still she rose, slowly and inexorably, until she was on her feet.

“When I give you an order, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor said, “I expect you to obey it. If you do not, I will force you to—and after that, you will be punished.”

A spear of pain lanced through Leia’s mind, digging through her thoughts and skull until it felt as if her very brain was on fire. She screamed, reaching for her head, digging her fingers into her scalp until she bled. And still the pain raged.

“Hear me, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor said, and it felt as if his words rang in her ears and in her mind. “You will fear me. And you will hate me.”

And then the fire—and the bands of power—were gone, leaving Leia gasping and crying on her knees.

“Stand up, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor commanded.

Still crying, Leia sat.

The Grand Inquisitor sighed, and flicked his fingers.

Again Leia fought, and again it was futile. She was lifted to her feet and set there. Her bare feet were cold against the wood of the floor. She tried to sit, going limp and letting her knees buckle—but the bands of power remained, strong and hard, and held her in place.

Another spear of pain struck, driving all thought and function from Leia’s mind. She screamed, high and piercing, and she clutched her head. Tears of desperate pain squeezed from her clenched eyes to trickle down her cheeks and chin.

The bands disappeared, and again Leia landed on her knees. She still clutched her head, crying and whimpering.

“Let us try this one more time,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “Get up, 851.”

Leia set her chin, fighting through the tears and said, thin but stubborn, “No.”

“Very well.”

Claws dug into Leia’s brain, racking and pulling her apart. She shrieked—and then, just as sudden as they had started, they were gone.

Leia opened her eyes to find herself standing in her bedroom on Alderaan. The sun was streaming through the windows above her bed, and the rich, white rug was soft beneath her feet. She was dressed in a nightgown, and her hair was braided and flung over one shoulder.

A knock came at her door. Then, “Lelila? Are you up?”

Leia turned, barely breathing. “Papá?” she called, and started for the door.

It opened to her father frowning in concern. “Is everything okay, Lelila?” he asked, looking down and seeing the tears gathering in her eyes.

Leia flung herself at him. “Papá,” she sobbed, burying her face in his stomach.

“Shhh, Lelila,” her father crooned. He knelt, and then gathered her to him in a strong embrace. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I…” Leia began, then choked on her tears.

“Shhh,” her father said again. He rubbed her back, the ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it back. “It’s okay, Lelila,” he promised in a murmur. “I’m here.”

Leia cried even harder.

“I thought you were gone,” she said after a long moment of tears. “I—I dreamed you died. And...and Aunt Mon and Master Carlist didn’t want me. And they hurt me, and—”

Her father pulled away, his hands going to her shoulders. He smiled. “But Leia,” he said, “I am dead.”

Blood burst from his mouth, drenching his chin and dripping down to stain the collar of his white shirt. His eyes rolled back into his skull, and his chest gave a great _crack_. Ribs ripped through his skin beneath his shirt, poking it out in strange shapes. Scarlet spread across the soft, white cloth, garish and shocking.

Leia screamed.

“Get up, 851.”

Leia opened her eyes to the practice court. The lights were blinding, and the Grand Inquisitor stood above her.

“Get up, 851,” he repeated.

Leia shook and stayed down. She didn’t think she could get up even if she wanted to.

The Grand Inquisitor bent down and wrapped his hand in Leia’s hair, pulling her upright. “Do you want to see your father again, 851?” he asked.

Leia stood in a permacrete parking garage. The lights were low, filling the corners with shadows, and setting the speeders parked between the white lines gleaming. A door with a “STAIRS” sign above it sat in a corner just visible through the rows of speeders.

“Leia?”

Leia turned, her blood running cold, then hot, then cold again in fear and desperate desire. There, wending his way between the speeders, was her father, tall and strong and so familiar, so loved.

“Papá!” Leia called, unable to stop herself.

“Leia, I’ve been looking for you,” her father said, hurrying forward.

He was almost to her, his arms opened wide to accept her in a hug, when a shadow appeared behind him. It rose out of the darkness, appearing with the suddenness of wind. There was a _hum_ , and then the red blade of a lightsaber erupted into view—through her father’s chest, throwing a red underglow across his face.

Leia screamed as her father landed on his knees, hands going to the hole burned through his chest. He looked up at her, blood trickling from one corner of his mouth. “Leia,” he gasped.

Then the lightsaber reappeared, humming with hungry intent, and scythed down through her father’s neck.

His head landed on the ground and rolled. Leia screamed again as it bounced off of her feet, his face landing upright. It was locked in a shocked and pained expression, mouth and eyes opened wide in fear.

Leia looked up at the shadow now standing above her father’s headless corpse. The lightsaber’s glow illuminated the being standing there. He was dressed all in black, but for the lights blinking from the box hanging on his chest, which were red and green. A mask covered his face, and a rippling cape trailed from his shoulders. For the first time, Leia heard the breathing—hard, harsh mechanical breathing.

She recognized him. Darth Vader.

Leia shrieked, this time in fury, and threw herself forward, fingers stretched out in claws ready to rip the box from the front of his chest.

She blinked—and found herself on the floor back in the practice court. She was kneeling and breathing hard, looking at the Grand Inquisitor’s boots. She looked up at his face, expecting to see a frown.

He was smiling.

Leia felt anger bubble up in her. How _dare_ he be smiling? How dare he find showing her and killing her father funny? How dare he find any of this enjoyable?

“Well, 851. Are you going to stand for me this time?”

Leia lunged at him, a shriek rising in her throat.

A fist of power smashed into her chest, sending her flying. She struck the wall far behind her with enough force to drive all the breath from her lungs, and her head snapped back to crack against the wood panelling. Stars popped in her field of vision.

She landed on the floor a second later. She stumbled and fell to her knees, her legs unable to support her, dazed. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. Everything hurt: her chest, her head, her heart.

Leia gasped, finally dragging in a long, shivering breath. She looked up then, searching for the Grand Inquisitor, hoping he was nowhere near.

The Grand Inquisitor was clapping slowly, the smile still curling his lips. “Well done,” he said, when he saw Leia’s eyes on him. “You’ve done better than I expected.”

Confused, Leia stared at him. What was that supposed to mean? How had she done well? She had attacked him.

His voice came back to her. _You will fear me_ , he had said. _And you will hate me._

The Grand Inquisitor strode toward her, smile still fixed in place. He hesitated when he reached her, then leaned down and patted her on the head. “That will be all for today, I think,” he said. And with that he left the practice court, the door sliding shut and sealing on his heels.

Leia stayed on the floor by the wall, lost and confused and a little bit afraid. Did she fear him? she wondered. Did she hate him?

She thought she might.

When she closed her eyes all she could see was her father—her father standing before her, her father spitting blood, her father with his chest caved open.

She missed him. She missed him more than she could bear. She missed his strong hugs, his smile, his voice. She missed the way he would sweep her up in his arms, the way he would kiss her on the forehead when he tucked her in. She missed his stories, his songs, his laugh. She missed everything about him.

And the Grand Inquisitor had taken the sorrow and pain that she felt for her father and had twisted it on her—had forced her to watch him die not once, not twice, but three times now.

Leia dug her nails into her palms. _I won’t cry,_ she thought. But the tears spilled over her cheeks anyway, coursing down to drip from her chin.

“Hey now.”

Leia looked up, startled. A young man with dark, shaggy hair was kneeling in front of her, looking concerned. He had a narrow, pointed face, sea-blue eyes, and a scar that cut through his right eyebrow.

“Who are you?” Leia asked warily.

“Imperial Domestic Corps Organic Unit 14566YMV, cleaner-class,” the young man said. “But to myself, and to my friends, I go by Tobias.”

“Tobias?” Leia said, trying out the name.

Tobias smiled. “Yeah. That’s me. And who are you?”

“851,” Leia said. “Or so they tell me.”

“Were you someone before that?” Tobias asked.

“Leia,” Leia said. “Leia Organa.”

Tobias’s eyebrows rose. “Organa?” he asked, surprised. “Isn’t that the name of the Royal House of Alderaan?”

Leia nodded. “Yeah.”

“Were you part of the House then?”

“I was the Princess,” Leia said.

Tobias whistled. “You’re hardly a nobody then,” he said.

Leia shook her head. “I am now,” she said. “No one wanted me. So now I’m nobody.”

Tobias frowned. “But you were someone before.”

“I was,” Leia said with a shrug. “But I’m worthless to the Emperor like this, so I’m just a number now.”

Tobias leaned forward and gripped her shoulder. “Even nobodies are somebodies,” he said. “We’re sentient. And that makes us someone. You were someone before you were no one, and that can’t be changed. Remember that, Leia Organa.”

Tobias stood. “I’d better go now,” he said. “If I get caught talking to you, I might be culled.”

Leia frowned. “Culled?” she asked.

“Killed,” Tobias said. “Disposed of. All of us were told to not have any contact with you.”

“Then why did you talk to me?” Leia asked.

“Because you were crying,” Tobias said. “And because it looked like you needed a friend.”

“Oh,” Leia said. She looked at him, and fresh tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Tobias asked.

“For being nice… No one here except Dr. Ammit has been nice since...since Papá...” Leia trailed off, choked by her tears.

“Sure,” Tobias said and grinned. “See ya, Leia Organa.” And, turning, he hurried across the practice court and out a small door Leia had never seen before. It closed and vanished into the wall, seamlessly blending into the wood paneling.

~oOo~

The Grand Inquisitor was waiting for Leia when Sixth Sister brought her in again the next morning. Leia promptly sat, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. Her head hurt like it had the day before, and her mouth felt even drier. Both that and the fact that she had dreamed of Darth Vader killing her father all night made her grumpy.

“I won’t do what you want,” Leia said, preempting anything the Grand Inquisitor could say.

“We shall see about that,” the Grand Inquisitor said with a smile.

He lifted a hand and motioned for Leia. “Come here,” he said.

“I told you,” Leia said stubbornly, “I won’t do what you want.”

The Grand Inquisitor jerked his hand, and Leia felt bands of power wrap themselves around her chest and hips. They dragged her forward, feet skidding against the balsa wood floor, until she was in arm’s reach of the Grand Inquisitor, toes just brushing the ground.

He extended a hand and caressed her cheek. Leia jerked away, recoiling from his touch, eyes dark embers. “No,” she snarled.

In response the Grand Inquisitor gripped her cheek and chin with his large hand, forcing her head back. Leia snapped at him, but his knuckle bone, braced against Leia’s upper lip, kept his palm safe from her clicking teeth.

He smiled at her, and Leia thrashed against the bands of power holding her inert. She wanted to hurt him—wanted to hurt him so badly. Hate bubbled in her chest, black and sticky, and threatened to rise in her throat until it poured out from between her teeth to drown the Grand Inquisitor in its noxious flow.

The Grand Inquisitor’s smile grew. “I don’t even need to feel the hate in you,” he said, and his eyes glinted yellow. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Leia shrieked from behind his hand, and lashed out at him. Her nails dug deep trenches through the flesh of his wrist—and the Grand Inquisitor cursed, low and savage, letting Leia go. For a second she hung there, bound by his power, unable to reach him again, unable to flee.

The Grand Inquisitor looked at her, holding his bleeding wrist with his other hand. “You will also fear me,” he promised, and flicked his fingers at her.

Leia screamed as she flew through the air. She smashed into the wall and collapsed to the floor, stunned. Darkness crawled at the edges of her vision, threatening to slither across it and steal her senses from her. She fought it—fought to stay conscious, even as her lungs spasmed, as her chest stabbed with pain that she had learned meant broken ribs, as her body ached from lack of air and abuse.

“Do you fear me, 851?” the Grand Inquisitor asked, pacing toward her in long, slow strides. He looked like a cat, Leia thought—a great, black cat that could swallow her whole.

“No,” she said between gasps of breath. She rolled over onto her stomach, then levered herself to her feet, pushing through the pain of her broken ribs and her spasming lungs.

“Are you lying?” the Grand Inquisitor asked.

Leia turned and glared at him. “No,” she said, stronger.

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “You will fear me,” he promised.

“No I won’t,” Leia said bravely.

Raising a hand, the Grand Inquisitor lifted Leia to her feet and bound her against the wall, iron cords of invisible power cinching tight around her chest, making it hard to breathe. Then he reached up and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against her left temple.

Leia opened her eyes to find herself standing in the grand Entrance Hall of the Palace of Aldera, with its hundred flags hanging from the gabled rafters and its hundred windows lining either wall. The purple carpet underfoot, which stretched from the great double Doors of Aldera to the arched door on the opposite side, was thick and rich, and the pale light was casting the dust in the air into glittering motes of gold.

Then Leia smelled smoke. She looked up, confused—and saw fire. It licked at the rafters and climbed down to sit, hot and red, in the flags, dripping embers and ash to the floor far below. Leia cried out, in fear and horror, and lifted a hand to cover her head when a burning fragment of cloth fell toward her. She stumbled forward, feet tripping over themselves in her hurry—only for the toe of her right foot to catch on something and send her sprawling.

Leia landed with a grunt, then scrambled back to her feet, turning to look at what had tripped her.

It was the body of one of the Palace Guards, twisted unnaturally, his belly split open from sternum to pelvis. The breastplate he wore—paper-thin, silver duraplast—was ripped apart, the edges jagged and sharp. His entrails spilled out in red and pink coils and blood pooled beneath him, staining the gold tunic he wore beneath the breastplate.

She had tripped over one of his legs, bent at a savage angle. The bone protruded from his shin and out his knee, adding more scarlet blood to the puddle beneath him.

Leia screamed and staggered backward—only to run into something else. She turned with a squeal to see another body, this one hewn in half. The legs—still attached to the hips—lay half a foot from the torso and head, the blood smeared between them a chain still holding the two halves together. The body’s innards oozed from the top half of the body. Leia screamed again.

She whirled, looking for an escape—and saw that the Entrance Hall was filled with corpses. They lay in contorted shapes, in halves and pieces, in blood and urine and feces. Some of them had died instantly, while some of them had clearly died slower. Blood soaked the carpet and smeared the marble floor to either side scarlet.

Leia leaned over and threw up. She had seen death before—had seen the men and women of her father’s personal guard slaughtered before her—but that was in darkness. She had not been able to see the bright red of the blood, the torn flesh, the burned bones.

Now she did.

The scene bled, the walls of the Entrance Hall and the carpet and the bodies blurring then running together, then faded to grey and black. Leia found herself standing in a dim room with duracrete walls, ceiling, and floor. There was no door, no window, no mirror—no entrance or exit of any kind that Leia could see.

“Hello?” Leia called, turning and scanning the walls. A ball of hot anxiety knotted in her stomach, climbing up into her throat and sitting like bile in her mouth. Was there no way out?

There came a low groan, like gears grinding and a dying man weeping. Leia turned again, now desperate as she looked for something, _anything_ that was not duracrete.

Nothing.

And then the walls began to bleed.

The blood oozed from the duracrete in large, viscous droplets, running down to join the floor in long, thick rivulets. The smell overwhelmed Leia, heavy and metallic, and it coated her tongue and throat with the taste of it. She gagged, but only bitter saliva came up.

“Please,” she cried, covering her nose and mouth with a hand. “Someone help! Anyone, please…”

A mouth grew in the wall facing Leia, ripping free of the duracrete and growing, growing, growing, blossoming like a flower opening its petals to the sky, lips wide and teeth crooked. It laughed at her, blood-stained spittle flying, which struck Leia in the face and hand. She was glad she hadn’t moved it.

The mouth opened wider still and uttered a deep, bone-rattling word in a language Leia could not understand. It was a deep and hissing language, full of broken consonants and sharp-edged vowels. Leia screamed at the sound of it, covering her ears with both of her hands.

Another mouth grew out of the wall above and to the right of the first one. It laughed as well, and Leia screamed again at the sound. Then it spoke, its voicing overlapping the voice of the first mouth.

A third mouth grew, then a fourth. Then a fifth, sixth, seventh… Leia lost count of the number of them as they ripped free of the bloody duracrete with increasing rapidity, growing and smiling and laughing and speaking in that terrible language.

“Please,” Leia sobbed, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her hands tighter over her ears. She crouched down, hunching over her knees and into a tight ball, trying to shut out sight and sound and smell.

Then, as suddenly as Leia had appeared there, she was gone.

She opened tightly closed eyes to see the Grand Inquisitor standing in front of her. She hung in their air against the wall, and his fingers were still pressed to her temple. She realized when she tasted salt that she was crying.

“Do you fear me now, 851?” the Grand Inquisitor asked.

“Yes,” Leia whispered. And it was true.

~oOo~

“Hey there,” Tobias said. Leia looked up to see him staring down at her, his hands shoved into the pockets of the cotton pants he wore. He was barefoot, she noticed for the first time, and the shirt he wore had been patched.

“Hi,” Leia said, and sniffed. She had finally stopped crying, but her nose was still running.

Tobias sat. “What’s wrong?”

Leia stared at him long and hard, wondering what to tell him. She could tell him the truth—but there was something frightening in that prospect. Would he believe her? Would he question her? Would he laugh at her?

There was something sad in lying to him, though. Something bitter and ugly and fearful. She needed to tell _someone_ what had happened—needed to get the images out of her head and into the open air. She could tell Shmi or Luke, but it would be hours until she could see them, and she needed to do it now.

“It’s the Grand Inquisitor,” Leia blurted at last.

Tobias frowned. “I’ve heard of him. He’s the head of the Order of Inquisitors, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Leia said with a shrug. “But he’s been in here instead of my trainers the last two days. He’s been doing something…” Leia trailed off, looking for the words to describe what had happened. “It’s like he’s making me _see_ things,” Leia said at last.

“Like what?” Tobias asked.

“My Papá,” Leia said softly. “My Papá being killed. And then today a bunch of dead people, and a duracrete room with walls that bled and mouths.”

Tobias’s frown deepened, creasing his eyebrows and curling his mouth down. “I see,” he said.

“Do you believe me?” Leia asked.

“Oh, I believe you,” Tobias said quickly. “I’ve heard terrible stories about the Force.”

“Papá used to tell me stories about the Force,” Leia said dubiously. “He never talked about making someone see dead people or blood or mouths.”

“I haven’t either,” admitted Tobias. “But I’ve heard of people seeing things that weren’t there. And of Inquisitors giving people nightmares. It doesn’t seem like a stretch to me to think that an Inquisitor—especially one as powerful as the Grand Inquisitor—could give people visions.”

Leia shivered. “Maybe.”

Tobias reached forward and patted her on the knee. “It’s gonna be okay, Leia Organa,” he told her.

Leia looked up at him with dark eyes rimmed with red, and said softly, “I don’t think so.”

~oOo~

When Leia was brought to the practice court the next day, the Grand Inquisitor was again waiting for her. This time, however, Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister were with him. They watched Sixth Sister lead her in with cold and disinterested eyes, and as the door closed behind Sixth Sister’s retreating form they turned back to each other and continued their conversation.

It was nearly half an hour before they so much as acknowledged Leia’s presence again. At last, however, they turned and, with the Grand Inquisitor leading the way, crossed to stand over Leia, who had taken a seat as soon as the door had closed behind her.

“Today,” the Grand Inquisitor said, “your training begins in earnest.”

Leia frowned and crossed her arms. “I won’t,” she said.

The Grand Inquisitor lifted her with a flick of his wrist. He held her there, suspended in the air at eye-level, and said, “There is a power within you, 851. It looks different to each wielder—to some it is a bright ball, to others a small seed, to others still a shining web. Regardless of how it looks—and feels—to you, it is there. I want you to touch it for me.”

Leia shook her head. “No,” she said stoutly, trying to ignore the fear crawling up and down her spine.

“You will do so, or I will make you,” the Grand Inquisitor informed her calmly. “You will not like it if I have to make you,” he added.

“No,” Leia said again, and she thrashed against the bands of power holding her in the air.

The Grand Inquisitor flicked his fingers and Leia fell. She landed on the floor in an ungainly sprawl, and she picked herself up gingerly, nursing a jammed wrist. The Grand Inquisitor, meanwhile, turned to Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister, and made a curt hand motion.

Thirteenth Sister crossed to a table Leia hadn’t seen before. It sat in the shadow beneath the observer’s balcony, and held a cup, a pitcher of water, and a silver flask. Thirteenth Sister first poured a small dribble of clear liquid from the flask into the cup, then added water. Turning, she bore the cup over to Leia, and handed it to her.

“Drink,” she ordered.

Leia eyed the drink dubiously. “I don’t want to,” she said at last, looking up.

“You have to,” Thirteenth Sister said. “Or we’ll force it down your throat.”

The threat sounded a great deal like the one Sixth Sister had made her on the first day. If Leia had believed the threat then, though, she feared it now.

Warily, she took a sip. The water tasted just as sweet and heavy as it had the first day, when Sixth Sister had given it to her. Leia wondered what was in the silver flask, even as she took another, deeper drink. She could feel the Grand Inquisitor’s eyes on her, and slightly gentler than his, those of Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister.

She finished it and handed the cup back to Thirteenth Sister, who returned the cup to the table. Then the three Inquisitors gathered around Leia, still seated on the floor, and clasped hands.

It felt like being dragged down beneath ocean waves. One second everything was bright and warm and real—and the next everything was dark and cold and constructed of half-formed thoughts and dreams. The weight of those thoughts and dreams crashed down over Leia, dragging her deeper, and deeper still, until she was drowning beneath them.

Then—light.

It was faint at first, merely a glimmer lodged at the bottom of a deep well of shadows. Leia perched on the edge of the well and looked down, down, down, through the swirling darkness and fragments of thought and dream spinning like broken spider’s silk. The light flickered, red and orange and yellow and, at the heart, bright, bright blue, and it seemed to beckon to her.

 _This is just a dream,_ Leia thought. _Just like all the other times_.

But somehow this felt different. For one thing, when she had been in the visions before she hadn’t been able to tell that they were anything but reality. Besides, they were always showing her something horrifying—and this wasn’t horrifying. It was, instead, comforting and familiar, like a golden, long-forgotten memory.

The light sang to her, bright and warm and infinite. Slowly and with great caution, Leia slipped over the edge of the well and began to swim down toward the light, long breaststrokes she had learned in the oceans of her father’s childhood estate. The darkness buffeted her, clawing at her hair and dragging at her face—but still Leia swam, batting them aside and striving ever closer toward the light.

It grew brighter and warmer the closer she neared to it. The red turned to sunset over the mountains, the orange to dancing fire, the yellow to sifting sand, and the bright blue at its heart to the sky of Shmi’s desert.

Leia hesitated on the edge of the light. It rested beneath her, a real and tangible thing—a flame flickering, its heart a burning ember.

 _“Touch it.”_ The voice was echoing and painful, and made Leia clap her hands over her ears. It continued to ring, reverberating between her ribs and stomach and heart, until it filled her bones and mouth and thoughts.

 _“No,”_ Leia told the voice, everything in her rebelling at the thought, in spite of the fire’s siren song.

_“Touch it.”_

_“No,”_ Leia said again.

Then, _Come to me, oh Child of the Force._ It was a different voice, one Leia had heard long before, in the ice temple of Vasieer. She shuddered to hear it now, like ice and needles and satin, like a thousand voices crying as one, so near and close.

 _“Touch it,”_ came again.

_“No.”_

_Child, come…_

And then the two voices blended, layering one over the top of each other. Each sang to her, the one like ash and stinging blade, the other infinitely greater.

_“Touch it—”_

_Oh, Child of the Force..._

Slowly—slowly—Leia reached out and touched the ember heart.

She was standing in the desert, the sand whispering over her feet and around her ankles. Before her stood a desolate field filled with machines humming toward the blue sky. They were tall and oblong, with a long spire topped by a wind-turned turbine. A fence made from tilted slats of plastisteel ringed the flat field, keeping out the dunes that rose to every side but south.

A figure appeared between the machines, trudging between them carrying a toolbox and leading a small parade of droids. Leia smiled, recognizing the sandy hair and willowy frame, even beneath the hat pulled low over his brow: Luke.

Leia started forward, quickly gaining speed until she was running down the row toward him, calling his name. He either didn’t hear her over the hum of the machines, or ignored her; either way he did not turn, even when she skidded to a halt in front of him.

“Luke,” Leia panted, and reached a hand out for him.

Her hand passed through his shoulder and out the other side.

Luke froze, eyes going wide. “Leia?” he asked, and looked wildly around.

Leia smiled. “Yes,” she said, and tried to touch him again. Again her hand passed through him, but Luke shivered and looked around again. “I’m here,” Leia tried to say—but a voice from behind her cut her off before she could try again to make herself heard.

“Come on, Luke,” said the gruff voice. “I need that wrench.”

Luke hurried forward, passing through Leia and on down the row. Leia turned, stumbling out of the way of the droids on instinct, and stared at Luke’s retreating back.

Why hadn’t she been able to touch him? Why hadn’t he been able to see or feel her? Where even was she?

There was a tugging in her navel. Leia fought it, wanting to stay and find answers to her questions. _No,_ she tried to say, and pushed the sensation away.

Leia hurried after Luke, following in the wake of the droids. He had sensed her. He had—Leia was certain of it. Hadn’t he reacted when her hand passed through him? She would find a way to talk to him.

The tugging at her navel came again, stronger. Leia pushed at it and kept on going.

_“Touch it…”_

Leia opened her eyes to find her hands buried deep within the ember. Pure, radiant light was pouring up her arms and into her chest, setting her aflame. It burned, deep in her body and deep in her bones, until all she could feel was the blue-yellow-orange-red light.

Only now she could see that it wasn’t just four colors—it was a thousand colors, a thousand thousand colors. It was all the colors she could comprehend, and more colors that she couldn’t, all woven together into a tapestry of shimmering, shining light. It was a hundred trillion voices all singing at once, each in their own of a billion tongues, each voice unique yet blended. It was everything, and nothing, and everything again. It was infinite.

Leia gasped, and came back to herself. She was sitting at the center of the circle formed by the Inquisitors, their linked hands clasped over her head. They were silent, their eyes closed and their lips thinned with concentration.

The fire had dimmed in her bones, and now it felt different—harder, colder, realer, as if it lay just beneath a pane of glass. She reached for it, and her fingers skimmed over the glass, smooth and cool, so that she could not touch it.

The Grand Inquisitor opened his eyes. “Do you fear me, 851?” he asked. “Do you hate me?”

And suddenly Leia was again in the speeder hangar, Darth Vader standing over her father’s headless corpse. And she was again in the Entrance Hall filled with the dead and dying. And she was in the room whose walls bled and mouths screamed words she could not bear.

_“Do you fear me? Do you hate me?”_

_Yes,_ Leia thought, and the sticky fear in her chest mixed with the black hate to make a noxious, intoxicating tar that coated her heart and rose like bile in her throat.

“Hate me,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “Fear me.”

“I do,” Leia growled from between gritted teeth. She looked up at him, eyes hard and burning.

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “Good,” he said. “Feel that hate, that fear. Let it fill you. Let it control you.”

“No. I won’t.”

“I will make you watch your father die a thousand times,” the Grand Inquisitor told her calmly. “Perhaps then you will allow your hatred to be unleashed.”

Leia fought back the surge of fury and loathing. It was enough to choke her—but she tamped it down, burying it deep within her chest where it smoldered in her lungs, turning each breath sour.

She saw her father—saw him standing and smiling, his arms open wide. She saw the knife, saw the hand wielding it, saw the grey skin and too-large bones, the red markings on the face. She saw the knife swing down, saw the blood fountain into the air as her father’s throat was carved into a weeping smile.

She saw her father—saw him kneeling to pray at the Mother’s altar, hands clasped before him and head bowed. She saw the monk come up behind him, dagger ill-hidden in his sleeve, saw it rise and fall. She saw her father fall, blood pooling out from the wound in his back, the bone of his spine visible beneath torn skin and shredded cloth.

She saw her father—saw him laughing beside her mother, who turned to smile at her. “Come here, Lelila,” her mother said, and Leia took one glad step forward. She saw the oil at their feet, saw the match as it was lit, saw it arc through the air. She saw them burn, screaming and wailing in agony and fear, thrashing as they died.

Leia screamed, the fury and loathing climbing from her lungs and into her mouth, dripping over her chin and down to her chest. She wanted to drown the Grand Inquisitor in it—the Grand Inquisitor, Ninth Brother, Thirteenth Sister, everyone who had a hand in this.

“Yes,” the Grand Inquisitor said, low and purring, eyes half-shut. “Let your anger and your hate rise.”

Leia swallowed, choking back her hatred, forcing it back down into her lungs. _No_ , she thought, desperate. _He can’t win. I won’t let him._

She saw her father dead in the Palace of Aldera’s throne room, stomach spilled onto the floor. She saw her father dead in waves tinged pink with his blood. She saw her father dead on the floor of his bedroom, body broken. She saw her father dead in a street, half of his face bashed in.

The hatred surged. She swallowed it back.

She saw her father dead once, twice, five, twelve times.

She screamed, fingers balled into fists, and the hatred roared from her, spilling over her lips and crashing to the floor.

“He’s dead,” Ninth Brother said, and Thirteenth Sister laughed, high and loud. “Your father is dead, and he is never coming back.”

“Your mother too,” Thirteenth Sister added. “And no one else wanted you.”

Leia screamed again, tasting fury.

“You’re all alone and at our tender mercies,” Ninth Brother said. “No one is coming for you. No one will rescue you.”

“You’re ours,” Thirteenth Sister added.

“No!” Leia screamed, and surged to her feet.

“You will be a weapon for the Emperor,” Ninth Brother said in his steady, smooth voice.

“You will serve him in body, mind, and soul,” Thirteenth Sister said. “There is no other way for this to end.”

“No,” Leia shrieked.

“You cannot win, 851,” Ninth Brother said.

“You will not win,” Thirteenth Sister said.

“No!” Leia screamed again, whirling on each of them in turn, glaring. “No, I will! I _will_ win. He won’t!”

“No, 851,” Ninth Brother said. “You’re doomed. Doomed to—”

Leia lifted a clenched hand up, ready to punch—only for Ninth Brother to fly across the room and strike the wall. He fell to the ground, and did not rise.

Leia stood, panting, her raised fist falling to rest at her side. Beneath her feet, the balsa wood was warped and jagged, as if it had been torn up with an invisible plow.

The Grand Inquisitor clapped slowly. “Well done, 851,” he said. “Well done indeed.”

“No,” Leia said, staring at Ninth Brother still lying senseless. “No, I...I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “And you will again.”

Leia shook her head. “No,” she said again, close to tears. “No, I… No.”

“Take her back to her room,” the Grand Inquisitor told Thirteenth Sister. “And make certain she is brought a full meal.”

Thirteenth Sister bowed. “As you wish, Grand Inquisitor,” she said. Then, turning to Leia, she said, “Come along, 851.”

Leia followed numbly. She could not get the sight of Ninth Brother flying through the air and collapsing boneless to the floor out of her mind.

 _I did that_ , she thought. _That was me._

She remembered Shmi’s warning that she would become a force of Darkness that the galaxy had rarely seen. Was this the first step toward becoming that Darkness? Had she failed utterly? Had she consigned the galaxy to terror?

 _Not again,_ Leia decided. _I won’t let it happen again._

But, as Thirteenth Sister left her in her room and went in search of the kitchen and a meal, Leia found that she feared it might happen again anyway.

 _I couldn’t stop it_ , she thought. _I didn’t want for it to happen, but it did. What’s to say it won’t happen again?_

Leia curled into her bed and drew the blankets over her head. _I’m sorry, Shmi,_ she thought, squeezing her eyes shut tight against the memory of watching her father die, against the memory of seeing Ninth Brother fly through the air. _I’m sorry_.

Thirteenth Sister returned with a tray of food. “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked when Leia made no move to rise.

Leia ignored her, and after a long moment she heard Thirteenth Sister put the tray down on top of the dresser, then leave. Still Leia did not move.

 _Please,_ she thought, begged, pleaded harder than she ever had before. _Shmi, I need you_.

“I’m here, Leia,” Shmi said, rising from where she had been sitting on the sand. The twin suns beat down from overhead, and Leia could see the shimmers of heat rising above the dunes.

“I failed,” Leia said, looking up at Shmi. “I couldn’t...I mean I did—”

“Shhh,” Shmi murmured, and gathered Leia to her. “This isn’t the end.”

“It’s not?” Leia asked.

Shmi drew back and knelt so that she was at eye-level with Leia. “No,” she said firmly. “Because you kept fighting. Even now, you’re still fighting.”

“But I failed,” Leia said, miserable. “I hurt Ninth Brother. I—”

“And what are you going to do now?” Shmi asked. “Are you going to give in and do what is asked of you?”

Leia shook her head. “No,” she said. “I...I’m going to fight. Even harder. Because I can’t let this happen again.”

Shmi nodded and, reaching up, cupped Leia’s face with her hands. “There you are, then,” she said. “So long as you keep fighting—so long as you never stop fighting with every fiber of your being—you will be okay. Give up, though…” She trailed off, and Leia nodded.

Leia hesitated, then in a very small voice asked, “What if I do mess up again?”

“Then you learn from that, and you keep fighting. Just like this time.”

“Okay,” Leia said.

Shmi gathered Leia to her one last time, and pressed a kiss to her head. “Keep fighting, oh Child of the Force,” she murmured.

A chill raced through Leia. “What did you say?” she asked, pulling away and looking up at Shmi.

But Shmi, and the desert, were already fading.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a review may help me overcome my writer's block - so please, if you're so inclined, leave a comment before you go! Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed!


	12. Part 1: Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long to get this up. This chapter has actually been written for a while, but my second beta's been super busy lately. So busy, in fact, that she still wasn't able to beta this chapter. So if this chapter sucks more than the others, blame her. (I'm kidding, I'm kidding. All fault lies with me and my writing abilities, or lack thereof...) All the same, I hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER 11

It was a week before Leia used the Force again.

It was a struggle, every moment of every day, not to give into the Force’s siren song. It called to her, the flame buried deep within her blood and bones and soul—it begged for her to touch it, to pull on it, to wield it. It was part of her—a deep-seated, inherent part of her that she had for so long only known of as the heat in her veins and the iron in her marrow, but now was a raging fire burning along limb and breath and thought—and it sang to her. It would be so easy, she thought, to tap into it—to sink her hands through the glass covering the flame and feel the fire burn through her body, electrifying and buoying her up, up, up into a stratosphere of power.

Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister taunted her, harsh words and harsher actions. They pushed her, and kicked her, and knocked her to the floor, calling her selfish and stupid and bitch. “You’re nothing,” Thirteenth Sister sneered. “No one wanted you, because you’re nothing. You’re no one. You’re worthless.”

Leia threw herself forward, fingers locked in claws ready to scratch at Thirteenth Sister’s eyes and unprotected face. She drew blood and a scream, and was smashed against the wall with a backhanded fist of the Force. She landed on the floor with a grunt and a groan, fighting to draw breath into abused lungs, struggling to make her limbs obey her silent commands.

Nights were the hardest. Laying in bed, without insult or pain to force her rebellion, the siren song was the loudest and sweetest. It would be so easy, Leia thought, to reach for the flame buried deep within her—to pick up the hairbrush from the dresser, to turn the handle on the sink, to pull the blankets from her bed. It would be so easy to draw upon the power sunk deep into her soul, and it was alluring—so alluring, so sweet, so tempting.

But then Leia would remember the smile on the Grand Inquisitor’s face as Ninth Brother struck the wall, would remember Shmi’s soft voice warning her of what she could become, would remember the sick feeling in her stomach as Ninth Brother flew through the air. She would remember—and she would draw back, pulling away from the alluring draw of the Force, tamp it down and bury it back beneath the sheet of glass separating her from it.

She lost control, however, on the eighth day.

Sixth Sister led her into the practice court to see the Grand Inquisitor flanked by Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister. They watched coldly as Sixth Sister dragged Leia to the mats and dropped her there.

Leia crossed her arms and glared. The three Inquisitors continued to look down on her with cold eyes and lips thinned with displeasure.

At last, the Grand Inquisitor said, “Your stubbornness will only serve to bring you pain, 851. Thus far we have been gentle with you—but that will not remain the case if you continue to refuse us.”

Leia frowned. Gentle? They had been being _gentle_?

“What is your choice, 851?” the Grand Inquisitor asked. “The Force—or pain?”

Leia swallowed the lump of fear growing in her throat and said, “I won’t use the Force.” Silently she added, _I won’t give in. Not again. I promise, Shmi..._

Pain speared through her head, white-hot and agonizing. Leia fell back, clutching her temples and writhing against the floor. She tried to scream, but only a thin, hollow wail escaped her locked lips and jaw. It felt like nails in her brain, like daggers scraping away slices of her thoughts; it felt like fire, raging and roaring, ripping through her mind.

It didn’t stop. Leia’s wail fell into a whine, then a whimper. Blood beaded around her nails and trickled down into her hair. Something wet and sticky dripped from her nose. Her writhing stilled, until she was still and cramped on the wood floor, back arched and muscles standing out on her neck.

She was dying. Leia was convinced of that. She was dying, and the Grand Inquisitor was killing her. She had to do something— _anything_ —but she couldn’t even stand. Her thoughts, scattered and drifting, driven apart by the pain echoing through her mind, were desperate.

 _Please_ , she tried to say, only for no sound but the dying echoes of her scream to escape. _Someone…_ Leia thought, _anyone…_

_Help._

The fire in her roared, shattering the glass covering it. It burned through her flesh and through her bones, radiating out into her scream and into her head where the pain carved away thought and feeling and hope.

For a second there was a struggle. Leia felt it like pounding waves, one of midnight violet invading her from the Grand Inquisitor and one of bright, brilliant blue from herself. They surged and contended, each battling against the other for dominance, rising higher and higher and higher through her, cascading from skull to lungs to feet, running and racing along the avenues of her bones. It filled her, until she was nothing but power striving against power.

And then, with a scream that rose from her lungs to her throat to her locked lips, the bright, brilliant wave crescendoed and swept over the midnight violet wave, crushing it, smothering it, and at last casting it out of her body. The foreign power fell away, running from her eyes and ears and nose, leaving her weak and trembling and sobbing on the floor.

She picked herself up slowly, gingerly testing each limb before she moved it. A black and sour feeling ate at her stomach; she wanted to vomit, though whether that was from the fading residue of pain, or because she had failed—had broken her promise to Shmi—she could not say.

Leia looked around, expecting to see the Grand Inquisitor, Ninth Brother, and Thirteenth Sister standing before her, smiling or clapping or at least watching her. To Leia’s surprise, however, none of them were where she expected them to be. Clambering to her feet, Leia turned in a slow circle—and felt a jolt of shock.

All three of them lay by different walls. The Grand Inquisitor was only just picking himself up, blood running from a clearly broken nose and front tooth. Once he gained his feet, however, he smiled, and walked slowly toward Leia, clapping.

“Well done, 851,” he said, voice thick with blood. “Well done indeed. Not only did you throw me out of your mind, but you physically threw all three of us as well.”

“I didn’t—” Leia began. “I mean, I wanted…” She trailed off, helpless.

She felt terrible. She had failed Shmi again. She had broken her promise, and had used the Force—had used it against all three of the Inquisitors. The guilt and shame sat like a black lodestone in her stomach, eating away at her throat like bile and seeping into her mouth.

“Now,” the Grand Inquisitor said, as Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister picked themselves up as well, “let’s see if you can do that again.”

There was more pain. Leia screamed, and tasted blood on her lips as it dripped from her nose.  She fell to the ground, head clutched between her hands, and silently begged for help. She was dying—she was _dying_ —and there was no one there to help her.

The glass shattered again, and again the Force rose in silent exultation to answer her pleas for help. The Grand Inquisitor, ready this time, was only flung halfway to the wall, and he landed in a crouch on the balls of his feet. His smile was no less wide when he stood, however, and he clapped again as he stood.

“Very good, 851,” he said. “I think that will be all for today. Come, Ninth Brother, Thirteenth Sister. Let us have our wounds tended to.”

Only then did Leia see that the other two were smeared with blood: Thirteenth Sister on the forehead, a long, deep gash weeping scarlet tears; Ninth Brother from the jagged ends of a bone peeking through the skin of his wrist.

They left, leaving Leia alone.

She curled up at the corner of the mat, pressing her back against the lip of the raised floor, burying her head in the space between her knees and chest, arms wrapped around her shins. She remained like that for longer than Leia could be certain of, trying to forget the lingering echo of pain in her head, and the black bile of shame and guilt creeping at the edges of her mouth.

She had failed Shmi. She had failed Shmi, and the galaxy. She hadn’t even fought to keep from using the Force that second time—had let it happen, had let it rise and obey her silent command to force the Grand Inquisitor from her head. She had stopped fighting, if only for an instant.

Footsteps. Leia looked up past her knees, and saw Tobias approaching warily.

“Hey there, Leia Organa,” he said, and settled down on top of his legs in front of her. Leia was reminded of a bird settling to roost.

“Hi,” Leia said, very small.

“What’s wrong?” he asked her.

Leia sniffed and buried her face in her knees again. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” she said.

Tobias was silent for a moment. Then he said, “You might not want to, but I think maybe you should.”

Leia thought about that. Then, quietly, she admitted, “I broke a promise.”

“What promise was that?”

“I used the Force again,” Leia said. “I promise Sh— I promised I wouldn’t.”

Tobias did not press her to divulge what she had been about to say before cutting herself off. Instead, he said, “That seems like a pretty big promise to make.”

Leia shrugged her shoulders and kept her face buried. After a second, though, she said, “You know what the Force is?”

“I’ve heard stories,” Tobias replied. “And I was alive when the Jedi were still here. I heard all about their adventures in the Clone War.” He was silent for a moment, then he said, “Can you say sorry for breaking your promise?”

“Yes,” Leia said. “Maybe. I hope so. But I don’t know if that will fix anything.”

“It probably won’t. But I doubt that one broken promise is the end of the world.”

“It might be,” Leia said miserably.

“It won’t help to dwell on what’s past,” Tobias told her.

Leia sniffed and shrugged her shoulders again. “Then what _do_ I do?” she asked.

“You keep moving forward,” he said. “You try to never break that promise again.”

“But how?” Leia asked, plaintive.

“I don’t know,” Tobias admitted. “But I’m sure we can figure something out. Would you like that?”

Silent, Leia nodded.

“Okay then.” Tobias was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “What does it feel like? The Force, I mean.”

“Like fire,” Leia said. “And it reminds me of the desert.”

“Then next time you’re tempted to use the Force,” Tobias suggested, “maybe you should imagine rain. Rain puts out fire, and is the opposite of the desert.”

“It rains in the desert sometimes,” Leia said. Finally she looked up from her knees, resting her chin on top of them so that she could look at Tobias. “I read that in a book.”

“Oh,” Tobias said. “But still, it’s not usual.”

Leia shook her head. “I suppose not,” she said. “I’m not sure how that would help, though.”

Tobias shrugged. “It might not. But we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

For the first time since she had used the Force the week before, Leia smiled, tentative and small. “We do,” she said.

Tobias sat forward and, reaching for her, gave her a quick, tight hug. “It’s going to be okay, Leia Organa,” he said.

“What else is it like? The Force?” he asked, sitting back again. “I’ve heard stories—I was a little kid during the Clone War, and I remember playing Obi-Wan and Anakin with my friends—but I’ve never actually talked to someone who has it.”

Leia shrugged. “It’s like there’s this glass wall over it most times. But beneath that, it’s all fire. And when I use it, it—”

She was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Tobias leapt to his feet, face bleeding white, and he stumbled away from Leia. Leia turned, and saw Sixth Sister standing in the doorway.

“You,” she called, and pointed at Tobias. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Tobias ran.

One second he was moving, and then the next he was jerked to a halt. He fell backward, as if a rope had been thrown around his neck and yanked taught, and landed hard on his back with a grunt. He tried to scramble to his feet, and made it halfway to his knees before he was flung forward. He landed awkwardly in a sprawl, hitting his face on the floor and sliding a few painful feet before coming to a halt.

Sixth Sister strode forward, face stormy and eyes brittle, her upraised arm falling to her side. She stepped down onto the mat and crossed to where Tobias lay stunned. Kneeling, she wrapped her hand in his hair and lifted his face to hers.

“What the hell were you doing?” she demanded.

Tobias was silent.

“We told you not to talk to her.”

“Please,” Leia said, half-rising. “It wasn’t his fault. It—”

“Shut up,” Sixth Sister snarled, glancing over her shoulder at Leia and glaring her into silence. She turned back to Tobias. “You knew what would happen if you talked to her,” she said. “We warned you.”

Tobias shook and did not speak. He was not, Leia realized, looking Sixth Sister in the eyes, but rather at her mouth.

Sixth Sister shoved him back to the ground in disgust. “Get up,” she ordered. “And come with me.”

Tobias obeyed slowly, clambering stiffly to his feet, head bowed and eyes downcast.

Leia could not believe his obedience. Why was he not fighting her? Why was he not trying to escape?

Leia remembered what Tobias had told her the first day they had met—that he could be killed for talking to her. “No!” Leia cried. “Please, don’t hurt hi—”

Sixth Sister raised a hand and waved it at Leia. Leia flew across the mat and landed hard on her side. Leia coughed and struggled upright, desperate not to let her friend go without a fight.

“Please,” she begged. “Tobias, fight her. Run away. Don’t...don’t—”

“Shut up, 851,” Sixth Sister snarled. She walked over to Leia, lifted a hand, and slapped her. “Next time I break your hand. Understand?”

Leia sunk back and fell silent, knowing that Sixth Sister meant what she threatened.

Sixth Sister smiled. Then, turning to Tobias, she motioned for him to follow her. “Come on, slave,” she ordered, and led the way out of the practice court.

Tobias followed her. As he passed Leia, though, he glanced up at her. For a second, Leia thought she saw him smile at her.

Then he was gone.

~oOo~

The next day, armed with Tobias’s last suggestion, Leia faced off against the Grand Inquisitor. His face was cleaned of blood, and his nose was set straight, though both of his eyes were darkened with bruises. Ninth Brother’s arm was in a sling, and Thirteenth Sister sported a line of bacta-stitches.

 _Think of the rain,_ Leia thought fiercely as she folded her arms across her chest and glared at the Grand Inquisitor. _Think of the rain. Think of the rain…_

“Well, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor said, “are we going to be obedient today?”

“No,” Leia said, jutting her chin forward.

The Grand Inquisitor sighed. “Very well,” he said, and lifted a hand.

The pain struck, and Leia dropped like a stone. She screamed, her throat burning and mouth going dry, and she clutched at her head. In response, she felt the Force rise in her, responding to her silent plea and command for help.

 _No,_ Leia thought desperately through the pain. _No. Think of the rain. Think of the rain. Think of the—_

She imagined rain, soft and sweet and cool, falling on her upturned face. It ran down her cheeks and dripped from her chin, sinking beneath her skin and falling down, down, down into her blood, her body, her bones. She imagined it sputtering as it struck the fire that burned through her veins, imagined the steam rising from the flickering flames, imagined them dimming at first a little, then a little more, then a lot.

Slowly, slowly, the Force obeyed her silent command: _Be still_ , she told it. _Be calm. Do not save me._

The pain continued, but now Leia had a handle on the power still smoldering deep within her chest. Now, rather than it controlling her, she controlled it. And she buried it, beneath rain and beneath pain.

Blood dripped from her nose. Her voice went hoarse from screaming. Her vision darkened, until all but the very center of her vision was black. Her stomach cramped, her calves cramped, her neck cramped.

But still the rain fell on the fire of the Force; still Leia held it down, held it at bay, held it under her will and command.

The pain vanished. Leia blinked against the dark shadows crawling over her vision.

“Any more and I risk killing her,” she heard the Grand Inquisitor say quietly, his voice sounding very far away.

“Then what now?” Ninth Brother asked.

Silence. Then, “Watch her,” the Grand Inquisitor ordered. “I will return shortly.”

Leia heard the practice court door close, and she sat up slowly. Her head ached, and the world was spinning slowly around her. She put a hand to her head, and groaned. Her stomach heaved, and Leia swallowed thickly against the nausea trying to reject the small breakfast she had eaten that morning.

“Careful,” Ninth Brother ordered. “Take it slowly.”

Grudgingly, Leia knew he was right. She could barely see, and what little she could was swooping around her sickeningly. Closing her eyes, Leia fought the vertigo and fought the nausea still climbing at her throat.

The world had finally stopped spinning when the practice court opened again, admitting the Grand Inquisitor and two others. Sixth Sister Leia recognized right away, but the second figure—dressed in a loose, shapeless cotton shift, with head shaved bare and bruises on his face and arms, blood staining the beige cloth, and a collar and chain around his neck—took longer for Leia to recognize.

When she did, the nausea returned ten-fold, and Leia’s blood ran from fire to ice.

“Tobias,” she called, staggering upright. “Tobias, what—”

The Grand Inquisitor lifted a hand and Leia’s mouth snapped shut. “Silence,” he ordered her, then turned to Sixth Sister, who was leading Tobias by the chain. “Take off the collar,” he ordered, and Sixth Sister obeyed. “Kneel,” he ordered Tobias.

Tobias knelt slowly, still not lifting his eyes to look at Leia, or at anyone else in the room.

“Use the Force, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor ordered. “Or I’ll kill him.”

Tobias looked up. “Don’t do it, Leia,” he said, voice so soft Leia barely heard him. “They’re going to kill me anyway. And you promised—”

Sixth Sister slapped him into silence.

“No,” Leia said—begged, pled. “No, don’t do this. Not this.”

“Use the Force,” the Grand Inquisitor ordered.

Leia began to cry. “No,” she said again—but she didn’t know what she was saying no to. “Please…”

“Use the Force.”

Leia lifted a hand, and let it sink beneath the glass. The fire of the Force ran through her, warm and kind and enticing, and it whispered to her.

“What do you want me to do?” Leia asked.

The Grand Inquisitor reached into a pocket and pulled out a small ball. “Lift this off my hand,” he ordered.

Leia stretched out with thought and feeling, the flames of power racing after her. She touched the ball, felt its scuffed leather surface, the way it shifted in the Grand Inquisitor’s hand. Slowly, tentatively, Leia wrapped bands of fire around the ball and, raising her hand in tandem with the Force, lifted the ball free of the Grand Inquisitor’s hold.

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “Very good,” he said, and nodded. “Very, very good. Now,” he ordered, “I want you to go through the warm-up exercises with Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister. If you refuse,” he added, seeing Leia’s eyes flash, “I will cut off _Tobias_ ’s left hand. Understand?”

Leia’s shoulders deflated. She nodded.

Both smiling broadly, Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister led the way to the mats. They sat, and began a series of stretches, which Leia clumsily followed. They then jogged from one end of the practice court to the other, and went through a few basic strengthening exercises.

“Very good,” Ninth Brother said when they were done, and gave Leia an encouraging smile.

“That will be all for today,” the Grand Inquisitor said, once they were done. He motioned for Sixth Sister, who fastened the collar and chain back around Tobias’s neck. He had remained kneeling for the entire duration of Leia’s exercises, head bowed and eyes downcast. “We will begin again tomorrow.”

Leia curled up in bed ten minutes later, hurting and afraid.

 _What can I do?_ she asked herself over and over again. _What do I do?_

She couldn’t let them kill Tobias. She _couldn’t_. But if she obeyed them, and did what they said, then Shmi’s warning would come true—she would become a weapon against the galaxy, and would bring death and destruction to many. But if she didn’t obey, then they would kill Tobias.

 _What do I do, Shmi?_ she asked, over and over and over again.

But Shmi did not answer, and did not appear.

At last Leia fell asleep.

She dreamed of the house by the lake, and of Luke.

“I saw you,” she said eagerly, as soon as she had taken a seat on the bench that she found Luke on. It was on the veranda overlooking the water, and was carved from stone and wood.

Luke frowned, turning to her. “What?” he asked, confused.

“In a field of machines,” Leia said. “You were carrying a toolbox, and had a bunch of droids with you.”

Luke’s face cleared. “That _was_ you?” he gasped. “I thought— But how?”

“I don’t know,” Leia said, shaking her head. “It happened when I touched the Force.”

“The Force?” Luke asked. “Isn’t that what the old Jedi used to use?”

Leia nodded.

“But I thought all the Jedi were killed. That’s what Aunt Beru has always said.”

“They were,” Leia told him, remembering her father’s bedtime stories. “But there are still people with the Force. They’re just not Jedi anymore.”

“Huh,” Luke said. “And you have the Force?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That’s cool.”

Leia grinned. Then she sobered. “I have to be careful not to use it though,” she said. “Sh— I was warned that if I did, bad things would happen.”

“Like what?” Luke asked.

But Leia just shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about it,” she said.

“Okay.” Luke stood. “Then how about we race down to the water?”

Leia jumped up in reply, glad for the change in topic, and dashed for the steps leading down into the garden. “Last one there’s a rotten egg,” she shouted over her shoulder.

Luke laughed, gay and bright, and took off after her.

~oOo~

The next day Tobias wasn’t there.

“Where is he?” Leia asked the Grand Inquisitor defiantly.

“He’s been put to work in another building,” the Grand Inquisitor told her. “Somewhere far away from you—but not so far that we can’t have him summoned here. We _will_ kill him if you do not cooperate with us. Do you understand?”

Leia nodded, all of the fight going out of her.

 _It doesn’t matter what happens,_ Leia decided, turning to Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister. _I can’t let them kill my friend._

“Come here,” Ninth Brother ordered. Leia obeyed warily, crossing to the mat and stepping down onto it, coming to a halt in front of Ninth Brother. “Now sit.”

Leia sat.

“Follow my lead,” Ninth Brother commanded, and lifted his arms out to the side as he took a deep breath in. Then, releasing the breath, he dropped his left arm and carried his right arm over his head, dropping it toward the floor on the far side of his body. He held that pose as Leia copied him, then counted to ten before reversing it.

Leia mirrored him as he stretched his sides, his back, his neck. Then they stood and went through a second series of stretches focused on the legs: thighs, calves, and ankles. Arms were next, along with wrists and hands, followed by stretches that incorporated the entire body, not just a focus on one part of it.

All of the stretches were ones Leia had done at home with Rebécca and Sabé, but now they took on a darker undertone, making Leia’s skin crawl and her bones ache. She didn’t know why, but doing them with Ninth Brother made her feel sick to her stomach, as if she was doing something forbidden.

“Come with me,” Thirteenth Sister said, once they were done stretching. She led the way to the wall, then said, “Keep up with me—if you can.” She started forward in a light jog, which Leia quickly matched. After the first full circuit of the practice court, however, Thirteenth Sister quickened her pace, forcing Leia to break into a run.

Every lap after that, Thirteenth Sister increased her speed, until Leia was sprinting to keep up with her. At last, Leia began to fall behind, panting heavily, sweat dripping down her face and between her shoulder blades, sticking her shirt to her back.

She dropped farther and farther behind, until at last she came to a staggering halt, tripping over her own feet and crashing to her knees.

“I can’t,” she panted, close to tears.

“Get up,” Thirteenth Sister ordered, jogging back and coming to a halt over her.

Leia staggered to her feet, only to fall back to her knees as her wobbly legs gave out.

Thirteenth Sister snorted in disgust. “Weak,” she said. “Pathetic.”

“I’m sorry,” Leia begged, fear for Tobias creeping up her shoulders and into her words.

 _What if they hurt him because I can’t get up?_ she wondered.

“Please,” she said. “I’m trying…”

“Get up,” Thirteenth Sister said again. “Or we will bring the slave back in and punish him for your failure.”

 _No_ , Leia thought. _No, I can’t… I won’t…_

Leia gathered her strength and forced her feet under her. Pushing herself upright, she locked her knees and bound her will to her legs, forcing them to stay strong—though whether that was because of her own strength, or because of the fury of her desperation, she could not say.

Thirteenth Sister smiled. “Good,” she said, and nodded. “Now come with me.”

She led the way across the practice court to the wood-paneled wall across from the door. She touched it, and the panel slid into the wall, revealing a rack of staffs of varying lengths. Thirteenth Sister turned and appraised Leia with an upraised eyebrow, then she selected a staff a little taller than her.

“Here,” she said, handing the staff to Leia. “This will be yours from now on. Take care of it; it is your weapon until we deem you fit to bear a practice blade. Understood?”

Leia nodded dumbly. It was all so much so fast, and she was still wobbly on her legs.

Thirteenth Sister brought her back to the mats, where Ninth Brother joined them. The Grand Inquisitor remained by the edge of the room, arms crossed over his chest, gaze impenetrable as he watched the proceedings.

Ninth Brother stepped forward and adjusted Leia’s grip on her staff, moving both of her hands closer together and tightening her grip. “Like that,” he said, and moved the staff in a slow arc, allowing Leia to gauge what the it felt like in its movement.

It felt awkward and strange to Leia. She had practiced with a staff under Rebécca’s tutelage—and she had been good at it. The movements then had felt natural and smooth, as if she had been born to wield a weapon like that—as if it was as natural as breathing, as running, and laughing. She would close her eyes and go through the katas, feeling the movement of the staff through the air and in her hands, and sometimes—sometimes, when she was the most in tune with her body and with the staff—it was like she could hear it humming.

Now, though, Ninth Brother kept moving her hands closer together whenever she tried to slide them apart. Thirteenth Sister had gathered up a staff of her own, and was working with Leia on basic attack-defense positions. They had quickly realized that she knew at least a little bit of how to wield the staff, and so had breezed through the initial foot- and hand-stances.

“No,” Ninth Brother said at last, when he adjusted her hands for the eighth time, after a series of prescribed attacks and blocks. “We wield double-bladed weapons, not single-bladed—you need to learn how to fight with both ends.”

Leia growled in frustration and tried again to move her hands outward. Again Ninth Brother moved her hands together.

“That’s enough,” the Grand Inquisitor said at last. He stepped away from the wall and came toward them, arms still crossed over his chest, expression inscrutable. Motioning for Leia to come to him, he sat down on the mat, gesturing for her to sit down in front of him.

He pulled from his pocket the same ball as the day before. “Think of the Force,” he instructed, holding the ball out in front of him. “Now prod it. Let it fill you, complete you. It will feel as if you are being made whole.”

Leia obeyed, and fought against the resulting rush of power. It begged to be released, to be used; it ate at her, gnawing on her bones and burning through her veins in a vain attempt to be freed. But Leia bound it tight, imagining rain falling on the passion of the flames.

It settled, and became bearable.

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “Very, very good,” he said, and raised the ball. “Now lift this out of my hand.”

Leia did. It hovered over the Grand Inquisitor’s palm for a long second, before collapsing back down. He smiled, and Leia panted, suddenly more tired than she could remember being.

“Well done, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor said, clearly pleased. “Now do it again.”

They practiced moving the ball around for an hour. By the end of it Leia was as exhausted as she had ever been—but it was a deep, aching exhaustion that crept through her bones and sank hooks into her muscles, not the needles and weakness of physical exhaustion.

“Here,” Thirteenth Sister said curtly, and handed Leia a cup of water. She drank greedily, only noticing once it was gone that it did not have the sweet, heavy taste that she had become accustomed to.

After that they worked on strengthening exercises. From behind another panel in the wall Ninth Brother drew out handheld weights, which he carried over to Leia and placed before her.

“Pick these up,” he ordered, pointing to two of the smallest weights.

Leia obeyed, then followed Ninth Brother’s instructions on how to lift them, first to her shoulders, then out to each side. They repeated those motions twenty times, then when Ninth Brother saw that she could do so easily with the light weights, again with slightly heavier ones.

By the time they were done, Leia’s arms were shaking.

“Now for your core,” Thirteenth Sister said, and held Leia’s feet while she did twenty sit-ups, then timed her while she held her body up off of the floor with her elbows and toes.

After lunch—chicken in lemon, fresh spinach, and nectarines—Leia practiced the basics of hand-to-hand combat. Again, she had already learned much from Rebécca and Sabé—had learned how to fall and how to make a fist, how to strike without breaking a finger and where to hit to do the most damage. She knew how to kick, and how to land on the balls of her feet, how to dance and weave.

Now they taught her how to kill.

“Hit the nose just right,” Ninth Brother instructed, and showed her how to pull her palm forward so that the bone of her wrist was at the fore, “and you can send bone shards into the brain.”

“Hit the chest hard enough,” Thirteenth Sister added, and demonstrated a light blow against Leia’s sternum, “and you can stop the heart.”

After that they practiced kicks and blows against a padded target.

“Harder,” Ninth Brother ordered.

“Harder,” Thirteenth Sister snapped.

Leia hit harder, and harder still.

They took another brief respite, and Leia drank more fresh, clean water. She gulped it greedily, and even dared to ask for more. The Inquisitors laughed, but obliged.

The Grand Inquisitor again stepped forward, and sat down on the mat. “The Force,” he began, once Leia was seated, “is an energy field that permeates the entire galaxy. Those who are strong in the Force—like me and you—can tap into that energy field and can wield it.”

He droned on for another hour, two, two and a half. Leia listened as best she could, though she was exhausted and the practice court was warm, sending her into a dazed stupor. He lectured her on what the Force was, on proper Force technique, on what they were to use the Force for and what they were not.

Periodically he would stop and ask Leia to repeat back what he had just said. This dragged Leia out of her stupor just long enough to dazedly and half-heartedly attempt to recite what she had just learned.

Twice she earned a cuff on the side of the head. “Pay better attention,” the Grand Inquisitor instructed.

Leia nodded, and tried—the fear for Tobias was still there, though muted by her exhaustion—tried hard, but still she slid in and out of the stupor.

At last, the Grand Inquisitor realized he had lost her.

“Take her back to her room,” he told Thirteenth Sister.

Thirteenth Sister bowed. “As you command, Grand Inquisitor,” she said. Then, “Come along, 851.”

Leia followed doggedly, stumbling on her feet, trying to ignore the weakness in her body, the tiredness in her bones. It was difficult—so very, very difficult—and she kept tripping over her own toes, her body betraying her and nearly sending her sprawling to the floor.

Leia didn’t know how she would be able to survive another day like today.

Dinner was waiting for her. Leia scarfed it down hungrily; it felt as if it had been years since lunch, and her stomach was gnawing at her spine. Then she readied for bed, and climbed between the sheets. Rolling over, she closed her eyes, and almost instantly fell asleep.

Shmi was waiting for her.

“Tobias is dead,” she said bluntly, foregoing a greeting.

Leia frowned and shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, he’s in another building.”

“He’s dead,” Shmi repeated. “They killed him for talking to you, and now they’re lying about it to get you to do their bidding.”

Leia shook her head again. “He’s in another building,” she repeated. “They _told_ me.”

“They were lying.”

“But…”

“Ask them tomorrow,” Shmi said. “Sense if they are lying.”

“I will,” Leia said savagely.

Shmi sighed then. “I’m sorry, Leia,” she said, gentler. “I know this is hard for you to hear, and harder for you to bear.”

“No,” Leia said stubbornly, and stepped away when Shmi opened her arms in an invitation for a hug. “He’s not dead. He’s fine. You’ll see.”

Shmi’s face fell into a sad expression, eyes deep and dark, mouth turned down into half a frown. “I ache for you, Leia,” she said. “No child should have to bear what you have borne.”

“He’s fine,” Leia said again, softer. “He’s _fine_.”

Shmi smiled sadly. “We shall see.”

And then she was gone

~oOo~

Leia awoke early the next morning. She was sore and cranky, but was dressed and ready when Sixth Sister came for her.

“Let’s go,” Leia said tersely as soon as Sixth Sister opened her door, pushing her way past the Inquisitor and out into the hall.

Surprised, Sixth Sister followed Leia down the hall and into the lift. She took the lead again when they reached the floor of the practice court, but Leia was close behind.

“What’s got you in such a rush today, 851?” Sixth Sister asked, halting in front of the door into the practice court and barring Leia’s entrance.

“I have a question to ask,” Leia said.

Sixth Sister arched her eyebrows, but let Leia past.

“Where is Tobias?” Leia asked, as soon as she was inside.

The Grand Inquisitor turned from where he had been conversing with Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister. “As I said yesterday,” he told her, “he’s been moved into another building.”

Leia frowned. She felt his words—felt the shape of them, the sound of them, the weight of them—and listened to their unspoken edges. Her bones hummed and her veins burned, faint and fickle; Leia, accustomed now to the raging fire of the Force, barely felt it—but feel it she did, and suddenly she understood.

It was the Force that enabled her to tell when someone was lying.

Leia pulled back, alarmed, dousing the fire with rain. She couldn’t use it—it was dangerous to use it. She would bring death and destruction if she used it.

But—but Shmi had told her to sense if they were lying. Shmi wouldn’t have told her to sense if they were lying if it was dangerous. That meant it was alright to use the Force for this. Right?

Leia closed her eyes.

 _Just this once_ , she decided.

“You said he’s in another building?” Leia repeated.

“That’s what I said,” the Grand Inquisitor said, voice creeping with a hard edge.

“So he’s not dead?” Leia asked.

“No,” the Grand Inquisitor said.

His word was slick and black like oil. It was hard to grasp, and harder to read.

Leia reached down through the oil, letting the fire of the Force burn a hole through it. The fire engulfed the oil, eating at it, ripping it to flaming shreds, devouring it until all that was left was the word as it was, imbedded and breathing with the intent of it. Leia looked at it, felt its shape and contour—and knew that it was a lie. It was twisted and rotted, a lie in its true form.

“You’re lying,” Leia whispered. “You’re lying. He’s dead.”

“No,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “He’s not.”

“Then show him to me,” Leia demanded.

“We will do no such thing,” the Grand Inquisitor replied calmly.

“LIAR!” Leia screamed.

The Grand Inquisitor stared at her, then sighed. He smiled, grim and humorless. “I should have expected this,” he said. Then, “Yes, we killed him. He befriended you. And you can have no friends. Remember this, 851—anyone you grow close to, anyone you care for, we will kill.”

Leia burst into tears. “But why?” she sobbed, hands in fists by her sides.

“Because we want you to Fall,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “Because you _need_ to Fall. Even more than you need to train, you need to drink of the Dark Side—need to let it fill you, control you. You are a bright light, 851; the Light fills you. But we will corrupt that Light, until there is nothing left of it in you.

“Do you understand me?”

“No,” Leia said through her tears. “No, I...I don’t.”

The Grand Inquisitor smiled. “That’s fine,” he said. “You will. You will…”

~oOo~

“She is strong,” Ninth Brother said mildly from his seat on the couch. The empty hearth stared back at him over his glass of brandy, dark and cold. The ring of couches and armchairs—all made from the same soft, red-stained leather—spread out to either side of him.

At the bar to the left of the hearth Thirteenth Sister snorted. “She’s stronger than any of us,” she said, pouring herself a finger of scotch. “Even stronger than the Grand Inquisitor, I warrant. I can’t help but wonder why the Emperor is having _us_ train the girl. Why not leave her training solely to the Grand Inquisitor, or even Vader?”

“He intends to use her to supplant Vader,” Ninth Brother commented blithely, taking a sip of brandy. “I doubt the Emperor wants to risk her becoming attached to him.”

Thirteenth Sister rolled her eyes. “As if that would happen. He’s nothing more than a dog on a chain. You don’t become attached to a dog.”

Ninth Brother shrugged. “Many people in the galaxy do,” he said. “Besides, Leia Organa has a heart the size of Alderaan. You’ve seen it.”

“True. Good thing too,” Thirteenth Sister said, at last coming around the bar, holding her glass. She took a seat on the arm of the couch on which Ninth Brother sat. “If it wasn’t for that damned big heart of hers, I’m not sure we could have gotten her to train at all.”

“I still don’t think we should have killed that slave,” Ninth Brother said, and took another sip. “We saw today what happened when she found out—and it was only a matter of time until she did.” He stared into the empty hearth, brooding.

Thirteenth Sister shook her head and stood, coming around to stand in Ninth Brother’s line of vision. “If we hadn’t, we would have appeared weak and insecure. We warned the slaves what would happen if they talked to her. If we had backed out, we risked another slave breaking her isolation.”

“That might not be a bad thing,” Ninth Brother said, looking up at her. “It was the breaking of her isolation that ultimately led her to train.”

Thirteenth Sister shrugged. “What’s done is done,” she said. “I personally think we did the right thing. But you’ve always been a philosopher.” Her eyes glinted yellow in the soft lighting. “I suppose that’s part of what’s made you such a good Teacher.”

Ninth Brother lifted his glass of brandy in a silent toast. “To training the Emperor’s new war dog,” he said.

Thirteenth Sister lifted her glass and arched an eyebrow. “To us being able to bridle and control her strength.”

It was Ninth Brother’s turn to snort. “I very much doubt that,” he said.

Thirteenth Sister smiled. “No,” she said slowly, and drained her glass. “No, I suppose not.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Was this chapter worse than the rest? (If so, I really need to know, that way I can make sure I don't post again until it's gone through my second beta...) Mostly though I hope you enjoyed!


	13. Part 1: Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my second beta (princess-sansa-of-ithilien) was busy, so this chapter only went through one beta (absynthe--minded). I hope it still is good... I wanted to get it to you all this weekend, though, and now seemed as good a time as any.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 CHAPTER 12

Weeks bled into months. Danyil and Cora appeared again, and they joined Ninth Brother and Thirteenth Sister in their insults and their abuse. Leia collected bruises like she had once collected dresses, and as the months bled into a year, she counted the number of broken bones to a total of twenty-two.

They beat her daily, kicks and punches and cuffs to the side of the head. They called her names: called her stupid, worthless, no one. They laughed at her, and derided her, and acted as if she was less than the scum on the bottom of their shoes.

“Why?” Leia demanded one particularly brutal day. She was angry and frustrated and close to tears. “Why do you do this?”

“Because we want you to hate us,” Ninth Brother replied in his calm, even voice.

Leia screamed at him, and fought to keep from lunging. In that moment, though she knew she shouldn’t, she hated him with all the fire of the Force at her command. The urge to wrap herself in it—to summon it and use it—was almost overwhelming. But she checked herself, reined herself in, bound her anger and frustration and pain into a tight ball and buried it deep inside her chest. She knew that attacking them would only result in another beating—and she had already suffered two that day, leaving her limping and with both a swollen right eye and a split lip. Even worse, it would do exactly what Shmi had warned her so many times not to do.

“You must resist them,” she told Leia every time they met now. “They want you to hate, and through that hate to Fall.”

“What do they mean by Fall?” Leia asked.

“They mean to fall to the Dark Side—to let the Dark Side consume you.”

“And what is the Dark Side?”

“It is the antithesis of the Light. It is hatred, and anger, and destruction. It is death. It is feeding on the gluttonous, rabid parts of the Force, and in turn letting it swell you with rotted, reeking power.”

“I don’t want that,” Leia said.

Shmi smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Then fight them. Don’t let your hatred or your anger consume you.”

“How do I do that?” Leia asked.

“That is something you must figure out for yourself,” Shmi replied.

Leia struggled with that. She imagined torrential downpours dousing the fire of the Force—but still it crept through and out, smashing Danyil to the floor and throwing Thirteenth Sister into the wall. She ripped up the wood flooring of the practice court, and made dents in the walls with the fury of her desperation.

 _How?_ she wondered. _How am I supposed to stop this?_

The answer came unexpectedly, on a day worse than most. It had begun with Ninth Brother dislocating her shoulder, and by mid-morning Leia’s left eye was swollen shut beneath a fractured eye socket, and her lips, teeth, and chin were a bloodied mess. Her arm still hung useless at her side, painful and cumbersome, making it difficult to move or even walk without agony.

“You’re nothing,” Danyil said, and punched her to the ground.

“You’re useless,” Cora added, delivering a sharp kick to Leia’s stomach. She grunted and curled up, trying to protect her chest and face.

“Use the Force,” Thirteenth Sister demanded, leaning down and grabbing a fistful of Leia’s hair, dragging her upright. Leia whimpered, her scalp hurting and her dislocated arm agonizing. “Show us that you’re worth something—anything.” She let Leia go. Leia slumped to the floor, crying silently.

Ninth Brother knelt by her side and smoothed a hand down her back. “We’re just trying to help you, 851,” he said softly. “We’re trying to get you to unlock your power. If you’d just cooperate, we wouldn’t have to hurt you.”

Leia shook her head. “But I don’t want to unlock my power,” she said miserably through her tears. “And besides, you’re cruel. You’re not trying to help me. You’re just mean.”

Ninth Brother sat back on his heels. “Imagine our threats and our condescension and our cruelties as durasteel arrows,” he said. “Imagine them piercing you, and through those holes pouring your inner power. That is what we are trying to do to help you. Do you understand?”

Leia did understand. But that had given her an idea.

In her mind’s eye, over the glass covering the fire of the Force, Leia imagined durasteel shields falling into place. They covered the glass, covered the Force, covered everything but the faintest gleams of light creeping through the seams.

When the Grand Inquisitor came to her later that afternoon and flung her against the wall, ordering her to fight to get down, and threatening to leave her there all night if she did not, Leia imagined again those shields. She took all the memories of the insults, took all the pain and fear in her body, and fed them into the shields. The shields grew strong and resolute, and Leia did not use the Force. The Grand Inquisitor let her down after an hour, but ordered that she not visit Dr. Ammit for the rest of a long, miserable week.

The Grand Inquisitor disappeared for a time, only to return a month later with a fresh scar on his face and a fresh temper darkening his mood. He struck Leia into the wall hard enough to fracture her skull, leaving her in the Medical Wing for nearly a week while her cranial swelling went down. When she returned he was in an even blacker mood.

“You will use the Force,” he informed her, “or I will kill you.”

Leia could feel his lie, and to spite him spat in his face. He wiped the spittle from his cheek with a slow and purposeful hand, then crushed her windpipe with a clenched fist. Leia gaped and gasped, dragging her nails uselessly against the skin of her throat, trying to rip away the invisible cords choking her.

“Use the Force,” the Grand Inquisitor ordered, taking a threatening step closer.

Leia dug her nails into her neck and strained to drag in a breath.

“Use the Force,” the Grand Inquisitor growled.

Leia imagined the durasteel shields settling over the glass separating her from the Force. She would not use the Force—could not touch it through the durasteel bands laying over the glass, though chinks of light seeped through the cracks—and he would not kill her. Of that she was certain. His lie had been slick and sharp, lurking within his words like daggers and a viper. The faintest burn of the Force snaked its way between the shields, through her veins and in her marrow. It was just enough to warn her of the deceit, but too weak to deal any damage.

With a snarl, the Grand Inquisitor released her. He turned to Danyil and Cora, waiting against the wall, and motioned for them to draw near. “Beat her,” he ordered, and stalked from the room.

That night Shmi hugged her tightly. “I’m proud of you,” she said. “You’ve learned well.”

“Thank you,” Leia murmured into Shmi’s shoulder, burying her face in the sweet-smelling, homespun cloth of her dress. She hesitated, then looked up at Shmi and asked, “It’s not wrong of me to use the Force to see if people are lying, is it?”

“No,” Shmi said. “Though you must be careful—any use of the Force can be an open door.”

“I’ll be careful,” Leia promised. “I’ll only ever use it for that.”

Shmi pressed a kiss to the top of Leia’s head. “For now, at least,” she murmured, much to Leia’s confusion.

Leia’s tenth birthday came. It was celebrated with a shattered femur and a trip to the Medical Wing.

“Happy birthday, 851,” Dr. Ammit said, sitting down on the bed Leia was resting in. Reaching into a pocket of lab coat, he pulled out a small, wrapped gift. “I’m probably not supposed to be giving you this,” he told her, “so don’t tell anyone. But here.” He gave it to her, and Leia eagerly unwrapped it to reveal a small container with a slightly squashed piece of cake.

She ate it quickly, licking the frosting from her fingers, and smiled at Dr. Ammit. “Thank you,” she said, when he took the container back from her. Leaning forward, mindful of the pain still radiating out from her leg, she gave the doctor a quick hug.

“You’re welcome, 851,” Dr. Ammit said kindly.

It wasn’t until later, after he had left and Leia was alone, that the tears came. She curled onto her side beneath the blankets and, pressing the knuckles of her right hand into her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobs, cried. His gift was the first truly kind thing anyone in the real world had done since Tobias had given her the hug the last day before he died—a thought which only brought more tears as Leia remembered her friend.

Other than Dr. Ammit’s infrequent kindnesses and Shmi’s increasingly sporadic visits, Leia’s only comfort was Luke. He visited her at the house by the lake every night, and together they explored the surrounding countryside and played in the gardens.

“I can’t swim,” Luke admitted sheepishly to Leia one night, when she suggested they swim out to one of the islands dotting the waves. They were seated on a bench down at the lakeside, watching the sun set over the water.

“You can’t?” Leia asked, surprised. She had thought everyone in the galaxy knew how to swm.

Luke shook his head. “Desert planet,” he said, “remember? Water’s too precious to waste on swimming pools. Except for maybe the Hutts.” He pulled a face. “Even if the Hutts do have pools, though, I’ve never seen one.”

“Well then I’ll teach you,” Leia said brightly.

“Really?” Luke asked hesitantly, hopefully. “You would?”

“Sure,” Leia said, smiling. “I don’t see why not.”

“I’d like that,” Luke said. “I’d like that a lot.”

After that, they spent at least an hour every night down in the lake, first splashing around in the shallows, then venturing out into the deeper water once Luke grew more confident. Leia dredged up every memory she could of her father teaching her how to swim. Luke was too big and she was too small for her to properly hold his belly up above the waves, as her father had done to teach her how to float, but they compromised by kneeling close to the shore where the water was barely thigh-deep.

After two months, Luke was confident enough to risk swimming out to the nearest island. That night they lay on the sand and watched the bright stars come out overhead, backed by the arm of the galaxy.

“It’s beautiful,” Luke breathed. He turned his head so he could look at Leia.

“It is,” Leia agreed, still staring up at the night sky. “You had to get really far out into the mountains to be able to see the stars this clear back home on Alderaan,” she said. “Papá said it was the light pollution from Aldera and Corsieen blocking them out.”

“Corsieen?” Luke asked.

“A city a little farther north than Aldera,” Leia told him. “It’s older than Aldera, and used to be the Northern Continent’s capitol back before the Organas united the planet under their rule.”

“Who built Aldera then?”

“The Organas,” Leia said.

“Neat,” Luke said, and sounded like he really thought so.

Leia smiled, trying to ignore the pang of homesickness that speared through her. She hadn’t realized, until she started talking about it, just how much she missed home—missed the mountains, the palace, the city she had grown up in. In that moment, she would have given anything to go back home.

“I hope I can go there someday,” Luke said after a moment, breaking the silence. “I’d like to see the mountains, and the palace, and the city.”

Leia looked at him, off-handedly wondering if he had read her thoughts—if he had somehow known what it was that she missed the most.

“I hope I can see your planet too someday,” Leia said, turning back towards the star-studded sky. “I’ve never seen a desert before.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Leia saw Luke flash a grin. “There’s not much to see,” he said, “but sure.”

That was the last conversation they had. The next night, when Leia opened her eyes to the house on the lake, Luke was nowhere to be seen. She hunted through the gardens and through the house, and waited for him for long hours on the bench by the water—but to no avail. Luke did not appear.

She did not dream of Luke again, even as weeks bled into months.

Neither did Leia dream of him in the field filled with machines. She had done so four times more, each time a little different. In one dream he was dressed in a blue shirt and shorts, the same hat pushed back on his head as he worked elbow-deep in one of the machines. In another he sat on one of the fence slats, a dome-shaped droid by his feet, chattering happily to it while he ate a sandwich. In the third he was following a short, stocky, middle-aged man around, carrying the toolbox, handing the older man whatever tool he asked for. In the last dream, which Leia had only two days before Luke vanished, he was pulling vats out from beneath the machines and testing the water collected there with a long, thin rod.

As time passed, she ceased even to dream about the house by the lake. A great sorrow, rich and deep, filled Leia when she thought of it, late at night as she lay awake from pain or anxiety, or during the longer days filled with abuse and ridicule. Thinking of it made her feel aching and empty, as if she had lost something very precious to her.

And she missed Luke—missed him with a longing so sharp it tasted like copper in her mouth.

One day about three months after Leia had last dreamed of Luke—she knew this because, after the second night of his absence, she had begun counting nights—the Grand Inquisitor halted her with a hand on her shoulder on her way out of the practice court, Sixth Sister in the lead.

“What am I going to do with you, 851?” he asked her, eyebrows drawn low.

It had been many weeks since Leia had seen him last. As the months had become a year, he had disappeared more and more often and for longer and longer periods of time, leaving her to Ninth Brother, Thirteenth Sister, Danyil, and Cora. Their orders, it seemed, had not changed for all the time that had passed—still they tormented and abused her, dealing pain and insult alike in an attempt to make her angry and lose control.

She had not, however, lost control for many weeks. The last time had been after they shattered her collarbone a month and a half before. She had screamed in agony, and with her scream had shattered half of the ceiling tiles and thrown all four of her trainers into the walls. They had picked themselves up slowly, and then Ninth Brother had brought her to the Medical Wing to be tended to by Dr. Ammit.

“If you would only do what they wanted, 851, they wouldn’t have cause to hurt you,” Dr. Ammit had said woefully. She had been sitting in a large bed in a larger room filled with identical cots, recovering from a surgery that had placed metal pins at the center of the shattered bone. She had still been groggy from the anesthesia and was only half-coherent.

“Hm?” she had asked, turning bleary eyes on Dr. Ammit.

“If you just did what they told you, they’d stop hurting you,” he had told her again. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

Leia had given a tiny shrug—and cried out with pain, in spite of the medication dulling the nerves. She had gasped and made a grasping grab for her collarbone, only to abort the movement before she could touch it.

Dr. Ammit had reached out and taken Leia’s wrist in one of his large hands, guiding it back down into her lap.

“I wish you’d at least think about it,” he had told her softly. “About doing what they want,” he had clarified, when Leia turned a confused gaze on him.

“I have,” Leia had said, her words slurred and only half-formed.

“Then why do you keep refusing them?” he had asked her, clearly frustrated.

“Because it would be worse if I didn’t.”

Dr. Ammit had shook his head. “But _why_?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you,” Leia had replied and sighed, leaning tiredly back against the pillows. Her eyes had slid shut, opened, then shut again.

Dr. Ammit had sighed. “I’ll leave you to rest,” he had said, and patted Leia on the hand. “I’ll see you tonight, 851.” But Leia had already been asleep.

Now the Grand Inquisitor continued to stare at Leia for a long moment, Sixth Sister half-in, half-out of the doorway, Leia awkwardly turned to follow her. He watched her, and she watched him and ignored Sixth Sister’s hard eyes on her back.

At last the Grand Inquisitor said, “Last chance, 851. Accept your hate, and accept your training.”

“Or what?” Leia challenged.

“Or you will suffer.”

Leia laughed at that, harsh and loud. “I thought I already was,” she said.

“Last chance,” the Grand Inquisitor said again, sweet and soft.

“No,” Leia said coldly. “I’ll never do what you want. _Ever_.”

The next morning Sixth Sister never came for Leia. Leia frowned and tried the door, but it did not open.

At first it was nice. Leia went back to sleep, and slept until mid-morning, at which point she rose and used the toilet and washed her face and hands. The silence was, at first, comforting.

As the morning slid into afternoon, however, the silence began to grate on her. She was so accustomed to the insults and to the beatings that, though it was nice to be pain-free—or mostly pain-free; she had a black eye and a swollen lip from being slapped the day before, as well as what she suspected was a cracked rib—it felt strange to be left alone.

“Hello?” she called, banging on the door as afternoon graduated to evening and still Sixth Sister did not appear. “Sixth Sister? Ninth Brother? Thirteenth Sister? Danyil? Cora? Grand Inquisitor?”

Only silence answered her cries, and her palm went numb from hitting the door.

Evening merged into night. Leia felt it in her head and in her bones, in the internal clock that kept her nights and days aligned. And still Sixth Sister did not come.

At last Leia gave up and curled into bed, forcing herself to close her eyes. It was difficult; she was used to facing off against her trainers, and used to being hurt. It felt strange to go to sleep after having done nothing all day.

When at last she slept, after many long hours of trying, she did so fitfully, dreaming many uncomfortable dreams.

She dreamed of mechanical men, the spit of red lasers from their wrist blasters echoing over a harsh, nasal repetition of “Roger, roger, roger, roger…”

She dreamed of men dressed in white and blue-streaked armor marching up a long, sloping stair to a broad plaza, headed by a man dressed in black and bearing a tongue of blue flame.

She dreamed of a world burning.

She dreamed of a wrinkled, scarred man lifting his hands to the ceiling, and softly, over the sound of deafening cheers, a woman’s voice saying, “So this is how liberty dies—to thunderous applause.”

She dreamed of her father holding a tiny baby wrapped in a blanket, and of a red-haired, red-bearded man carrying a second babe in the corner of his singed, brown cloak.

She woke sweating. She swung her legs off of the bed and rose, crossing to the sink. Turning on the cold water, she splashed her face and neck, then leaned over the basin and took long, deep breaths.

 _They were just dreams,_ she told herself, letting the water flow over her fingertips. _Just dreams…_

The next day was just as long and boring as the day before. Leia paced around her room, took a nap, and paced some more. She washed her face again, and wondered if she would be brought to the large shower they had her wash in once a week; it had been seven days since her last shower, and was time.

No one appeared to take her, however, and Leia was left to curl up in bed after another fruitless, anxious day.

The third day dawned to find Leia already awake and once again pacing. She was bored out of her mind, and had begun to pick at her arms out of nervous energy.

 _Just let something happen,_ she thought. _Something. Anything._ As accustomed to them as she was, she would even take a beating over the mind-numbing, anxious silence and _nothing_ that had been her life for the past three days.

As if her plea had been answered, the door to her room slid open. Leia turned to find the Sixth Sister standing there, grim-faced and serious.

“Come with me, 851,” she bade. Then, without waiting to see if Leia was obeying, she turned and strode down the corridor.

Leia followed warily, not wanting to face the consequence of disobeying—she had long ago learned to choose her battles.

They entered the lift, as Leia usually did, but when it stopped and the door opened, it was not to the long hall lined with practice courts. Instead the walls and floor were made of duracrete cinder blocks, and the ceiling was lined with pipes. The air had a wet, dank smell, and it was cool enough to make Leia shiver when she stepped off of the lift after Sixth Sister.

“Where are we?” Leia asked.

“Beneath the Inquisitorial Building,” Sixth Sister informed her. “Now be quiet.”

She led her past iron doors locked with thick bolts, their hinges on the outside and small windows covered with sliding panels set above Leia’s head. Red-blinking keypads were fixed to the wall beside each door, a shock of contemporary technology in the midst of an otherwise archaic design.

Sixth Sister halted outside one such door and punched a code into the keypad beside it. The keypad blinked green,and the bolt shot back. Sixth Sister reached forward and tugged the door open, then stood aside to let Leia precede her into the room.

It was small and bare, but for a drain at the center of the sloping floor and a pair of shackles attached to the back wall. Everything was permacrete but for the metal door and the shackles.

Sixth Sister guided Leia to the back of the small room and, pulling her hands behind her back, locked her wrists into the shackles above Leia’s head. Leia tugged at them, but they had no give, and she only succeeded in biting the edges of the metal into her soft skin.

“What am I doing here?” Leia asked, turning to look at Sixth Sister.

Sixth Sister did not reply. She simply turned and left the room without saying a word, allowing the metal door to swing shut behind her. Leia heard the _thud_ of the metal bolt sliding back into place—and then silence.

Leia stood there, arms shackled overhead, and waited.

In the end, she did not have to wait long.

The door swung open and Cora appeared, a length of chain in her hands. She stepped aside once she was in the room, ushering a bound and gagged figure ahead of her. The figure shuffled into the room, and halted when they were even with Cora, not daring to take a single step further.

Cora reached forward and pulled away the gag. Startled, the figure looked up—and froze.

Leia’s blood ran cold.

It was Sabé.

Sabé, along with Rebécca and Malothar, the Captain of the Honor Guard, had been the one to teach her how to fight—how to fall and how to roll, how to punch and kick, how to deflect and block. She had been the one to show Leia how to take apart a blaster, and how to put it back together again. She had been the first one to instruct Leia in the art of shooting.

“You’re going to need to know these skills before you grow old,” she told Leia, when Leia asked her why they had spent two hours going over how to construct and deconstruct a small holdout blaster.

“But we’re _pacifistic_ ,” Leia said, tongue stumbling over the large word.

Sabé laughed at that, though Leia did not know why. “Where did you learn that?” she asked.

“Papá said it at dinner last night,” Leia said.

“And do you know what it means?” Sabé asked.

Leia shrugged. “It means we don’t fight,” Leia said.

“That’s right,” Sabé said. “But what isn’t right is that Alderaan is entirely pacifistic.”

Leia frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” Sabé said, “Alderaanians are very careful about what fights they choose to take part in. Oh, Alderaan claims to be pacifistic—and they are, as a rule. But in the end, Alderaanians are always in the thick of things.”

“What’s that mean?” Leia asked.

“It means Alderaan is meddlesome,” Sabé said. “And though they claim to be pacifistic, in reality they rarely are.”

“Oh,” Leia said. “So why do I need to learn how to put a blaster together?”

“Because one day you’re going to be in the middle of a fight, and your blaster is going to short, and you’re going to need to know how to fix it. Now, let’s go through it again, shall we?”

The Sabé of now, however, looked very different from when Leia last saw her. Her hair was shorn jaggedly short, and she was wearing an ill-fitting, lumpy, grey jumpsuit with a number burned into the breast. Half-healed cuts and fading bruises littered her face, and her wrists were chained together before her.

“Sabé?” Leia asked, barely daring to breathe. “Sabé, is it...is it really you?”

“Leia?” Sabé gasped, and took a single step forward.

Cora struck. Sabé cried out, Cora’s fist smashing into her cheek and sending her staggering. Chains rattled as Sabé lifted a hand to her smarting cheek.

“I’m sorry,” Sabé said quickly, backing up so that she was not standing ahead of Cora.

Cora snorted. “Better,” she said, and dropped the chain. Then, turning, she left the small room, closing and bolting the door behind her.

“Leia,” Sabé gasped again, as soon as they were alone. This time when she took a step forward, there was no one there to strike her back.

She was at Leia’s side in an instant, chain dragging behind her. Sabé touched Leia’s left cheek, then her right, as if to make certain she was real. “You’re not dead,” Sabé said, tears welling in her eyes. “Gods, I can’t believe it. You’re not dead.”

“You thought I was dead?” Leia asked, shocked.

“Yes,” Sabé said. “But nevermind that. All that matters is that you’re here.”

Leia tugged again at the shackles binding her wrists to the wall above her head. Again they did not give.

“Leia,” Sabé began, “I—”

The door opened, and behind Sabé’s shoulder, Leia saw the Grand Inquisitor enter the room, followed by Cora. Cora was carrying a long leather whip in her hands. It glinted strangely in the room’s harsh light.

“Come here, prisoner,” Cora commanded as the door swung shut.

It looked like a shutter falling over Sabé’s face. Her eyes went from bright and alive, her lips half-curled into a smile, to dead. Her eyes turned to ash, and the smile died a painless death on her mouth.

Turning, Sabé obeyed. Cora held out a keychip, which she slid over the shackles holding Sabé’s wrists. The shackles popped open and fell to the floor, the chain falling after it. Cora gave it a kick, sending it rattling into a corner.

“On your knees, prisoner,” Cora ordered.

Sabé knelt.

Cora shook out the whip. Then, with a grunt of exertion, she brought it up and around, then swinging down toward Sabé’s unprotected back. It struck—and stuck, shredding through the cloth of her jumpsuit.

Sabé screamed. And screamed again as Cora gave a great yank, pulling the whip free of Sabé’s back in a spurt of blood.

Leia cried out, echoing Sabé’s scream with one of her own. She strained against the shackles, feeling the edges bite deep into her wrists, and struggled to reach her old teacher. “Sabé,” she cried, breathless and already close to tears. “Sabé!”

Sabé screamed again as the whip struck and flayed her, this time tearing off a long strip of skin and cloth, rather than sticking in her flesh. Cora grunted, brought the whip circling around, and struck again. Sabé pitched forward at the blow, only just managing to catch herself on her hands.

Cora struck again—and again. Sabé screamed each time, though the sound got weaker and weaker with each blow.

“Stop,” Leia begged, looking first at Cora, then at the Grand Inquisitor. “Please, _stop_.”

Sabé screamed again.

“Please, I’ll do anything,” Leia promised. “I’ll use the Force. I won’t fight you. I’ll be good. I _promise._ ”

The Grand Inquisitor looked at her amiably and said, “I’m afraid we’re past that.”

“ _Please_ ,” Leia pleaded. “Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.”

“I want you to hate,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “I want you to hate so much that it consumes you. I want you to Fall.”

“No,” Leia said, and began to cry. “No, _please…_ ”

“It is your choice, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “Put a stop to this and Fall, or watch your precious teacher die.”

Sabé cried out weakly, hands spasming against the duracrete floor. Blood dripped from her back and to the duracrete beneath her, running in long, curving rivulets to the drain.

“Choose, 851.”

“No,” Leia begged.

Sabé pushed herself upright, her arms shaking. “No, Leia,” she said. “Don’t—” She jerked and fell forward as the whip struck again, arms crumpling beneath her.

Anger and hate welled in Leia’s chest, hot and sticky and black. It rose in her like bile, like rot, stealing away her breath and replacing her heartbeat with shuddering malice. She wanted to vomit it out—wanted to spit it at Cora, at the Grand Inquisitor standing and watching on. She wanted them to die screaming.

Sabé picked herself back up, using strength Leia hadn’t known she could still possibly posses. “Don’t do it, Leia,” she said. “Fight him. Don’t let them win—” She cried out and fell forward again as the whip struck again, and again, landing face-first on the floor.

 _No_ , Leia told herself, swallowing her anger and hate back. _No, this is what he wants. I can’t let him win._

Another lash fell.

_But Sabé—_

“Make your choice, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “You don’t have much longer.”

At their feet, Sabé went limp.

“Sabé,” Leia cried, straining forward. Sabé made no move to answer her. “Sabé please. Get up.”

“Already she may have lost too much blood,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “Already you may be too late.”

The anger and hate dripped from Leia’s lips. The glass wall standing between her and the Force shuddered, and cracked. The fire trickled into her veins, hot and tempting, begging to be used.

 _It would be so easy,_ Leia thought. _So easy..._

_But no. No, I can’t. I—_

The whip caught in Sabé’s back again, and Cora ripped it free. Sabé did not move.

One, two, five more lash strokes fell. Sabé remained motionless, even as her blood speckled Cora’s boots and crept ever farther over the floor.

The fire of the Force swelled in Leia, begging to be released. She held onto it with her fingernails and teeth, only just keeping it bridled.

 _No,_ she thought, even as stroke thirty, forty, forty-five fell on Sabé’s unmoving back. _I can’t let them win._

At last, panting and sweating, Cora halted. She strode over and knelt at Sabé’s side, and placed two fingers under Sabé’s chin.

A long moment of silence followed. Then Cora said, “She’s dead.”

Leia screamed.

The Force exploded out of her, striking and ricocheting off the confined walls of the cell. Permacrete buckled and cracked. The iron door bulged, groaning and screeching. Cora’s head snapped backwards with a sickening _crack_ , and she flew into the wall behind her. She landed on the floor in a crumpled pile, blood leaking from her eyes and nose and ears.

The Grand Inquisitor himself was knocked back, but he maintained his stance. Air swirled around him in a whirlwind, eddies of the Force buffeting the air as he pushed out against Leia’s strike.

The whirlwind died. The Grand Inquisitor straightened. “Well done,” he said. “Do that a little sooner, and you may save the next one.”

Leia’s blood ran to ice. “The next one?” she asked, feeling suddenly small and afraid, even in the wake of the Force, still trickling through her.

The Grand Inquisitor strode over to her, gripped her chin, and forced her face up. “Yes,” he said calmly, yellow eyes piercing. “The next one. You haven’t Fallen yet. You lost control out of fear and pain, not out of hate, or because you gave yourself over to the Dark Side—though I think the hate is there. Yes,” he said slowly, “I can feel it in you, mounting. Yet you won’t let it take control. A shame, really. You could have saved her if you’d just let it out.”

Leia jerked away from the Grand Inquisitor’s touch, glaring. “I won’t Fall,” she snapped. “I won’t. I _can’t_.”

“And why not?” the Grand Inquisitor asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“Because— Because…”

Why couldn’t she? Leia wondered suddenly. How many people would be hurt, and even killed, in their attempts to make her Fall? How much violence and death would be wrought in their hunt to seduce her to the Dark Side? How much suffering could she prevent if she just gave in?

For a second, Leia almost did it.

But then—no. To give in, she realized, would be to spit in the faces of all those who had suffered—had died—for her sake. Sabé. Rebécca. Everyone who had died trying to keep her from Twelfth Brother’s clutches. Her father…

 _No_ , Leia thought. _Shmi is right. I can’t Fall. If I Fall, all I’ll do is hurt people. I’ll become just like the Grand Inquisitor. Just like Twelfth Brother. I’ll hurt and kill, and like Shmi said, I’ll bring death and destruction._

 _I can’t Fall,_ Leia decided. _I have to keep fighting._

“Well?” the Grand Inquisitor asked. “I can see you thinking about my words.”

“No,” Leia said, looking up at him with a glare. “I can’t Fall. I won’t _let_ myself Fall.”

“We shall see,” the Grand Inquisitor said, turning away. And with that he left, the buckled door swinging shut behind him, leaving Leia alone with a corpse.

~oOo~

Leia didn’t know how long it was before someone came to take Sabé’s body away. It was long enough that her mouth and throat were cotton and her stomach gnawed greedily at her ribs for want of food. It was long enough that she grew tired, the cuffs holding her upright and keeping her from sitting. Her legs began to shake, and she sagged in her bindings, the edges of the shackles biting into her wrists and drawing blood.

It was also long enough for the body to start smelling. Leia wrinkled her nose and breathed through her mouth—but even that was not enough to keep out the sickly sweet stench of flesh rotting. The taste coated her tongue and crept down into her lungs, imprinting on each of her thoughts.

She would never again question what rotting flesh smelled like, Leia thought.

At last, however, someone came.

The buckled door swung open to reveal two men dressed in hazmat suits, masks covering their faces and thick, protective padding covering them from head to toe. They moved cautiously and cumbersomely, bending over to grab Sabé’s hands and feet and hoisting her into the air. They carried her between them out the door, which closed again, leaving Leia alone.

She was not alone for long, however.

No more than a quarter of an hour had passed when Ninth Brother appeared in the doorway. He smiled at Leia, and said, “Come along, 851. This cell is untenable now, thanks to your outburst. We need to move you to one better equipped to handle you.”

Leia frowned at that, and tried to question Ninth Brother as to what he meant. He said no more, however, even as he scanned a keycard across the shackles holding Leia’s hands to the wall, and even as he led her out of the room and down the hall.

“I suggest you don’t try anything foolish like escape,” he told her sternly, halting and turning to face her in the doorway. “There is only way in and out of this level of the IB, and there are Inquisitors teeming the halls above us, as well as Stormtroopers. The IB is at the heart of the palace construct, meaning you would not only have to escape this building but the palace itself.”

Leia looked at him and said, “When have I ever tried to escape?”

Ninth Brother laughed at that. “Never let it be said that 851 isn’t courageous,” he said to the air around them. “In fact, I think you have more balls than half of the Inquisitors put together.” He shook his head, but Leia thought there was something akin to fondness in the movement. “Well come on then, 851,” he said, and turning led the way down the corridor.

He brought her to a room at the end of the hall. There were two bolts on the door instead of one, and there was no window. It took two seperate keycards to unlock, and when Leia was ushered inside, she found herself in a prison of white.

The walls and ceiling were covered with a thick, resistant material that, if Leia had to guess, was a mixture of cloth and plasti. It was springy to the touch, but rough like sandpaper. Leia suspected it would not shatter and buckle like the permacrete of the last cell had.

A chain and pair of cuffs hung from the ceiling in the far back corner. It was to these that Leia was led. Ninth Brother lifted her arms above her head and fastened the shackles around her wrists, sealing them with a _hiss_ and a _snick_.

“You’ll have enough slack to move around some,” Ninth Brother said, “but not enough to reach the door.” Then he patted Leia on the head and left the room, closing and locking the door behind him. Leia heard both the bolts slide into place with a _thud-clang_. She imagined that the air shuddered at the sound.

The chain was too short for Leia to sit. She sagged in her bindings, legs already weak and tired from her time in the permacrete room. Her feet dragged along the ground and her knees nearly reached it—nearly, but not quite.

After a while she fell asleep. She was tired—so very tired—and it didn’t matter that her wrists hurt with a deep, aching pain, nor that it was difficult to breathe with her arms above her head and her weight hanging from them. She hadn’t slept in the permacrete room, and her exhaustion swept up and over her, bearing her down into slumber.

“Oh, Leia,” Shmi murmured.

Leia opened her eyes to the warmth and blue sky of the desert.

The warmth was comforting, and sank into her bones to soothe the aches and pains she felt in her wrists and shoulders. Clouds hung in a dark band on the horizon, thick and grey and ominous, and Leia shivered. She did not like the look of them, and could not help but fear what they portended.

She looked back at Shmi, who stood a few feet away. Seeing her gaze, Shmi opened her arms in silent invitation—an invitation which Leia took without hesitation. Shmi hugged her tightly, and then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Leia’s head.

“I hurt,” Leia said into Shmi’s chest.

“I know,” Shmi said softly. Then, even softer, she added, “It’s okay to cry.”

Leia burst into tears.

“Why?” Leia sobbed. “Why did they kill her?”

“Because they want you to Fall,” Shmi replied evenly. “And they’re getting desperate.”

Leia cried harder.

“She...she’s…” Leia’s voice fell away into sobs, and she clutched at the back of Shmi’s shawl with tight, desperate fingers.

“She’s home,” Shmi said, and tightened her arms around Leia. “I know that doesn’t take away the pain of her parting, but she’s happy. She’s one with the Force now.”

“But she’s _gone_.”

“She’ll never truly be gone,” Shmi promised her. “Not so long as you remember her—remember the good times and the bad, the happy and the sad. Not so long as you can feel the Force.”

Leia sniffed, and pulled away just enough to wipe her nose on the back of her hand. “I miss her,” she said miserably.

“I know,” Shmi said. “And that’s okay.” Leaning forward, she smoothed the loose hair off of Leia’s forehead.

“Be brave,” Shmi said, kneeling down in front of Leia. She reached out and gripped Leia’s shoulders. “Be brave, and be strong. They will do anything to make you Fall—but if you do, you will bring darkness to the galaxy.”

Leia nodded. “I know,” she said. “I...I won’t Fall.”

Shmi smiled, and rose just enough to kiss Leia’s forehead. “I’m proud of you,” she said, and smiled.

And then the desert blurred and ran, and began to fade.

“Don’t leave me,” Leia cried, reaching for Shmi.

The door to the cell opened, the bolts shooting back with a _clang-thud_ , snapping Leia awake. She sniffed and blinked, feeling the tackiness of half-dried tears on her cheeks and chin.

The Grand Inquisitor entered, followed by Thirteenth Sister who had a dark and thunderous expression on her face, and a bound and gagged Malothar. The Captain was bruised and bloodied, his hair shorn short and his shirt and pants ragged and stained. His eyes were gaunt and hollow. He was dripping wet.

“No,” Leia gasped, and ran into the end of her chain as she strained to reach him.

Thirteenth Sister kicked Malothar’s feet out from under him, and he crashed to the ground with a muffled grunt. Then she reached down and yanked the gag from his mouth.

“Any last words?” she asked.

Malothar’s eyes were wide on Leia’s face. “ _Princesita,_ ” he whispered. “You’re alive.” It was a gasp of wonderment, of awe, of relief so profound it made Leia want to cry.

“Malothar,” Leia said plaintively.

Malothar, who had sung Leia to sleep during her afternoon naps when she was still small enough to need them.

Malothar, who had run through the Palace halls with her on his back.

Malothar, who had teamed up with Rebécca to sneak her into the kitchens to steal snacks and treats.

Malothar, who had been the first to teach her how to wield a staff, to fall, to fight.

She looked up at the Grand Inquisitor standing off to the side, and said, “Please don’t do this. _Please_.”

“Release your hate,” the Grand Inquisitor told her. “That is the only way you will be able to stop us from killing him.”

Malothar paled. “Leia,” he said, quick and desperate, “be brave. Be strong.”

The Grand Inquisitor nodded at Thirteenth Sister. Thirteenth Sister pulled a baton from her belt and flicked a button on the side. Electricity sparked, yellow then blue, between the two metal prongs jutting out from the top of the rubber-wrapped stick. Then, standing clear of him,   
Thirteenth Sister jabbed the prongs into the back of Malothar’s neck.

Malothar spasmed, eyes bugging out of his skull and jaw locking. Blood from his bitten tongue seeped out of the corner of his mouth to drip down to his chin, and he gave a stunted, choked off groan of pain.

Leia screamed and fought against the binders and chain holding her back. “Malothar,” she cried, tears welling in her eyes and spilling down over her cheeks. “Stop it,” she demanded, glancing up from Malothar’s purpling face to Thirteenth Sister standing behind him. “Stop!”

Everything in her burned—anger, desperation, the Force. It crackled between her bones and ignited in her blood, boiling and demanding to be used. It was born of her anger, of her terror, of her love for the man being tortured in front of her, and her feelings and the Force battered against the iron bands she had locked over the glass.

“Stop!” Leia screamed.

Abruptly, Thirteenth Sister stopped. “I will stop,” she intoned, voice flat, eyes glassy.

Malothar gasped and pitched forward, only barely catching himself on his hands before face-planting. He looked up, eyes wide and amazed, and looked at Leia.

“Leia?” he asked, tentative.

The Grand Inquisitor laughed suddenly. “Oh my,” he said, clearly pleased. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

Stepping forward, he touched Thirteenth Sister on the shoulder and said, “You will continue torturing this man, and you will not stop for any reason.”

“I will continue torturing this man, and will not stop for any reason,” Thirteenth Sister repeated. She flicked on the baton and jabbed it between Malothar’s shoulders.

“No,” Leia cried, fresh tears streaming down her face. She did not understand what had just happened. “No, please!”

“Release your hate,” the Grand Inquisitor said calmly, voice cutting through the buzz of the baton’s electricity, through Malothar’s groan. “Become what you were destined to be.”

 _I want to,_ Leia thought. _Anything to save Malothar._

_But...but no. I don’t want to. I don’t want to become what they want me to become. And I promised Shmi…_

But was that promise worth Malothar’s life?

“Make your choice, 851,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “Or it will be too late.”

 _What do I do?_ Leia thought desperately. _What do I do? WhatdoIdo?_

“Choose!” the Grand Inquisitor snapped.

“I—”

Malothar grunted, and his eyes rolled back into his head. He collapsed forward and landed on his face, and did not move.

“Malothar?” Leia cried, straining forward. “Malothar!”

But Malothar did not stir.

Thirteenth Sister pulled the baton away from Malothar’s back, then moved to kneel beside him. She put two fingers beneath Malothar’s chin, then looked up at the Grand Inquisitor and nodded.

“He’s dead,” Thirteenth Sister said.

Leia screamed.

This time when the Force snapped out of her, it did so like a whip. The narrow cord of power wrapped around Thirteenth Sister’s throat and constricted—then twisted sharply. Leia felt it in her mind and in her bones—felt the snap of her neck, felt the resulting rush of delight in her heart. The Force sang in tandem, dark and bloody and rich enough to drown her.

It would be easy—so very, very easy—for her to drink of that dark and bloody power. She would rip the binders from her wrists, and would attack the Grand Inquisitor. She would rip him to pieces—would scatter his flesh and blood and bones to the corners of the cell. Then she would force open the door and would find and kill Sixth Sister, Ninth Brother—everyone who had ever touched or hurt her.

She reached for it, ready to grab a hold of the promised power and use it to exact her vengeance.

She stopped.

 _No,_ a part of her shrieked. _This is wrong._

The Force felt slick and smooth, like oil. It felt black and scarlet threaded through with rotten yellow. It felt like death, like pain, like screams. It felt like tears and like poison.

And Leia knew what it was she felt: the Dark Side.

She drew back. This was what Shmi had warned her about; this was what she had promised to Shmi she would not do. She would not Fall—and that meant not touching or using the Dark Side. That meant not letting herself be swept away by her desire for vengeance. That meant binding her power beneath the bands of iron and not touching it—not here, not now, not like this.

She would not touch it and use it, no matter how alluring the prospect of its power was.

The Grand Inquisitor looked from the bodies on the floor to Leia standing still at the end of the length of chain. He folded his hands behind his back and watched her for a long moment, yellow eyes glittering.

“You almost did it,” he said. “Didn’t you? You felt it—felt the Dark Side.”

“I won’t Fall,” Leia said.

The Grand Inquisitor laughed. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”

“I won’t,” Leia said again.

The Grand Inquisitor just smiled, and turned. “I will see you in a few days, 851,” he said over his shoulder, and he left.

~oOo~

The door opening shook Leia out of her dazed stupor. She blinked, coming back to the room, and straightened in her chains. She expected to see the Grand Inquisitor, or perhaps Ninth Brother or Danyil, or even Stormtroopers.

She was not expecting the Emperor.

He stopped a few steps away from Thirteenth Sister’s half-rotting corpse, and folded his arms into the sleeves of his dark robe. For a long moment he only looked at Leia, watching her watch him with eyes hidden by shadow. Then he sighed, theatrical and false to Leia’s ears, and said, “Oh, my poor child.”

Leia glared at him. “I’m not a child,” she snapped.

The Emperor laughed, but he conceded, “No, I suppose you’re not—not after everything you have endured.

“It would all end, you know,” he added. “All you have to do is drink of the Dark Side and you will be given a nice room and good food, the prettiest clothes you could dream of, even servants of your own. It would be like you were royalty again.”

Leia hesitated. That sounded good—sounded nice. She was tired. So tired. All she wanted was to rest, to be free of the torment and the pain.

Falling would give her that.

But she remembered Shmi, and her warning.

Was it worth it? Would Falling really be that bad? Was a nice room, good food, and pretty clothes worth becoming a weapon of the Dark?

 _No,_ Leia decided. _It’s not worth it. I’ll hurt people—people like Tobias. I won’t become that._

She shook her head. “I don’t care,” she said stoutly. “I won’t Fall.”

The Emperor sighed. “Yes, the Grand Inquisitor did say that was your line.” He smiled then, lips curling under the shadow of his cowl, and Leia shivered. “I wonder if you truly know what you mean when you say it, though.”

“I understand enough,” Leia said.

“Do you?” the Emperor asked mildly. “I wonder.”

He smiled again, and stepped over Thirteenth Sister’s and Malothar’s corpses. “My poor child,” he said again, coming to a halt in front of Leia. “You don’t know when to stop fighting, do you? You are very much like your mother in that way.”

Leia stiffened. “You knew my mother?” she asked cautiously.

“I knew her quite well,” the Emperor replied.

“Oh,” Leia said with a frown, not knowing how to respond to that.

The Emperor reached up and patted Leia’s cheek. “Your stubbornness will only bring you pain and sorrow,” he told her. “Especially when I have already foreseen your end. I know where your destiny lies—and it lies with me.”

Leia jerked away from the Emperor’s touch. “No,” she said, harsher than she expected. “No.”

“Believe what you will,” the Emperor said, “but the end will come to pass as I have foreseen it. You will break and you will bow.”

“No,” Leia all but shouted. “No, I won’t.”

“It is your destiny,” the Emperor said. “Just as it was your father’s.”

Leia froze. “You knew my father too?”

“Of course I did,” the Emperor said. “I’m the one that made him into who he is today.” He hesitated, and then a sly grin snuck up his lips. “You know him too, child.”

Leia gaped, shocked. “I do?” she asked.

The Emperor nodded. “Would you like to know who he is?”

Leia gulped, and looked away. “But how?” she asked. “Anakin Skywalker died at the end of the Clone War, days before I was born. That’s what my Papá always said. So how can I know him?”

The Emperor laughed. “Because your _Papá_ lied,” he said.

The truth was that she did want to know—but she wasn’t sure if this was somehow a trap. Would the Emperor use that knowledge as a way to get her to Fall? Would he be able to use it against her?

As if he had read her thoughts, the Emperor said, “It’s not a trap, child—just information.”

Leia looked back at him. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I would like to know.”

The Emperor’s smile broadened. “Very well then,” he said. He paused dramatically, then announced, “Darth Vader is your father.”

Leia blinked, thinking she had heard wrong. “What?” she asked.

“Darth Vader is your father,” the Emperor repeated calmly. “Anakin Skywalker Fell and became Darth Vader.”

Leia shook her head. “No,” she said softly, disbelieving. “No, it’s not… He can’t be… He—”

“Search your feelings, child,” the Emperor said. “You know what I am saying is the truth.”

“But,” Leia began, only to fall silent, something black and horrible rising up in her throat and choking off her words. She looked down at her feet, bare and cold against the permacrete floor.

The Force was crying out at her. She could hear it through the glass and iron. _Yes_ , it seemed to scream. _Yes, yes,_ yes.

 _No,_ Leia thought. _No, that can’t be true._

But, as the Emperor had said, she could feel the truth in his words. She could feel it like stone and diamond and crystal. He was not lying to her; and the Force continued to cry out in a loud voice of a hundred thousand tongues, all saying the same thing, over and over again: _Your father, your father, your father…_

“So you see?” the Emperor said. “It is your destiny to be with me, just as it was his.”

Leia trembled. “No,” she whispered. “No, that’s not—that can’t be true.” She looked up from the floor to the Emperor. “I won’t _let_ it be true,” she said softly, savagely.

“We shall see, my child,” the Emperor said, smiling. “We shall see.”

END PART 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So part 1 is complete. What did you guys think? (To all my lurkers: Now would be a really great time to leave a comment. Even a simple "I liked the chapter" really brightens my day. In fact, I was talking to someone recently who I didn't even know was reading, and her comment about how she was loving the fic really gave me the boost I needed to post this chapter. So, just so you know, even tiny little comments go a long ways for an author...)
> 
> The narrative takes a breather after this, and gets a little bit lighter. So if any of you are feeling wrung out and exhausted after all this darkness, just hang in there for a little bit longer. It gets better. I promise. (And then it gets worse, buuuut that's not for a little while.)
> 
> Again, I hope to hear from you guys. But most importantly, I hope you enjoyed.


	14. Part 2: Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the beginning of Part 2. I hope you all enjoy it, for all its change in pace and tone. (I really, really hope y'all like it... I'm not entirely sure what I think of it? So if you have any comments, I hope you'll let me know (so long as they're constructive and not just something like "It's shit"...lol)).
> 
> Again, this didn't go through my second beta. If you think of it, maybe send her some warm vibes or happy thoughts or prayers - whatever floats your boat - as she's been sick and crazy busy and all sorts of things lately. I'm sure she'd appreciate it.
> 
> Lastly, for like the fifteenth time, I hope you enjoy!

**PART 2: THE CHILD OF THE DESERT**

_Ante meos oculos praesto est tua semper imago  
Et videor vultum mente videre tuum._

* * *

 

CHAPTER 1

Luke Skywalker was a bright and happy boy. He had a laugh like joy itself, a smile that could brighten a room as readily as Tatooine’s twin suns, and a kindness that could melt even the hardest heart. He loved, and he loved fiercely and selflessly, until all who met him fell in love with him in return.

His life was hard but good. His aunt and uncle loved him, and though his clothes were shabby and threadbare, they were patched with care and washed regularly. He never went hungry or thirsty, and he always had a roof over his head.

His uncle taught him how to shoot the family’s rifle when he was five. He began with a toy rifle with the firing pin removed; Luke carried it around with him everywhere he went, under orders that he was to treat it like a real rifle that could hurt or even kill someone. Then, when he was eight and tall enough to reach the pedals, his uncle taught him how to drive the family’s landspeeder..

“He’s going to need to know these things to help on the farm,” his uncle told his aunt gruffly when she protested, saying he was too young for such things.

“He’s just a child,” his aunt repeated.

“He’s a child with responsibilities,” his uncle replied. “We need him, Beru,” his uncle said then, softer. “We can’t afford a growing boy without another set of hands—and we don’t have the money to hire any help.”

His aunt relented silently and gracefully, though she began to give Luke time to play in the evenings while she was cooking dinner, rather than having him help as had been her wont.

The dreams began when he was nine.

They began as flashes—flashes of sound, of sight, of emotion. He heard a scream, a name he did not understand buried deep within it. He saw a window shattering and blood dripping from flowers. He felt fear, then anger, then despair.

The next night he dreamed again of the blood on the flowers. It dripped from petal to petal, staining moonlit violet and cerulean with crimson. He could taste the iron of it on the air, and could feel the despair radiating from the image.

He woke with a gasp and a start, and barely made it to the ‘fresher before he vomited, the taste of iron still coating his tongue.

“Luke?” his aunt asked, coming into the ‘fresher as he finished retching. She tied a knot on the bathrobe she wore over her nightdress, then knelt by his side, smoothing his bangs off of his sweat-soaked forehead. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Luke said, though he sounded miserable. He sat back from the toilet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I just had a nightmare.”

His aunt gathered him to her, hugging him tightly and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Nightmares aren’t real,” she reminded him. “There’s nothing to fear from them.”

Luke nodded against her chest, but he wasn’t sure he believed her. It had felt so real—had _been_ real, in the moment he had seen it.

Or so he had thought.

As the fear and despair that had accompanied the dream faded, time distancing him from the horror of it, he began to wonder if he was just being silly. A dream was only a dream, after all, and dreams weren’t real, just like his aunt had said.

 _Just a nightmare_ , he told himself, getting up to wash his mouth out. _Nothing to fear._

But he dreamed of the flowers again the next night—and this time there was pain accompanied with it. It was a deep, aching pain that began in his chest and radiated out into his lungs, his stomach, his fingertips. It felt as if there was a hole carved out of his heart, leaving only empty agony behind.

He woke up crying for the loss of something he could not name.

He dreamed of a white room, and of a sharp man who spoke sharp words. He dreamed of a throne carved out of obsidian, and of a shriveled, old man on it. He dreamed of yellow eyes, and smiles that hid venom.

And then he began to dream of her.

She was short but fierce, making her seem larger than she was. Her hair and eyes were dark but her skin was pale, and she spoke with words that felt like fire. Just standing beside her made Luke feel more alive.

“She’s amazing,” he told his aunt one morning as she cooked breakfast, after dreaming of the house by the lake and of the girl. They had run through the house playing tag all night.

“And who is this girl?” his aunt asked.

“I don’t actually know her name,” Luke said slowly. “But she’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“And why is that?” his aunt asked.

“Because...because she’s fiery and brave and smart,” Luke said. “And she just…” He trailed off, fighting to find the words to describe just who the girl was to him. “It’s like...like she makes me full,” Luke said at last. “Like when I’m with her, I’m not missing any part of me.”

“And are you missing something when you’re not with her?” his aunt asked, turning from the stove to pile scrambled synth-eggs on his plate.

“I don’t know,” Luke said around a mouthful of egg. “I think so.”

He learned her name was Leia. However he did not learn why, when she was with him, he felt as if a long-lost part of himself that he hadn’t even known existed was filled—why, when he was with her, he was made whole.

He turned ten, and with it came a rifle of his own and the promise to let him drive to Anchorhead by himself to spend time with his friends.

“Just be careful,” his aunt fretted, clasping her hands tightly together.

“I will be,” Luke promised. He dashed forward to give her a tight hug, and then ran to hop into the driver’s seat of the landspeeder.

“Be back in time for dinner,” his aunt called to him as he started up the engine.

“I will be!” Luke promised, and took off.

He told Leia about it that night. “It was great,” he said, swinging his legs through the air as they sat on the bench by the water’s edge. “I got to play with Biggs all afternoon. He even took me up in his skyhopper. We flew through Devil’s Canyon—really slow, but we did, and it was amazing.”

“Devil’s Canyon?” Leia asked.

“It’s this canyon a few miles outside of Anchorhead,” Luke told her. “It’s a death trap, and is the ultimate flying challenge. Someday I’m gonna be good enough to fly it full speed.”

“Are you going to be a pilot?” Leia asked.

“Yep,” Luke said. “My father worked on a spice freighter. I don’t know if I want to do that, exactly, but I know I want to fly—and that I don’t want to be a farmer.”

Leia laughed at that.

“What do you want to do when you grow up?” Luke asked. He used a toe to draw a line in the sand beneath them.

Leia was silent for a very long time. Then, softly, she said, “I don’t know anymore.”

“What did you want to do?” Luke asked.

Leia shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh,” Luke said. “Okay. Sorry.”

 A month later, Luke was working in the west field with his uncle, tending to the droids while Uncle Owen worked on tuning up the first row of vaporators, when he had a strange vision. He sensed her before he saw her, running towards him through the vaporators. Then she was before him.

He couldn’t see her as if with his eyes—could only see her with some inner sense that whispered, whispered, whispered to him that she was there, standing before him. The sense heightened for a second, and he was struck with the notion that she had touched him.

Her name fell from his lips.

But before he could search harder for her, before he could ask if she was there, Uncle Owen called to him for the tool Luke had been asked to bring. As if startled out of a stupor, the sense of Leia vanished, leaving him very much alone.

That night the nightmares began, even as he continued to dream of the house by the lake and Leia.

He dreamed of a tall man and woman and pain. They had yellow eyes that glinted in the bright lights of a large room, floored with wood and blue mats. They struck him and mocked him, and broke his arm. He screamed, and clutched the arm to his chest even as blood ran down his wrist and dripped from his fingers, the bone jagged through the skin.

He dreamed of them again the next night, only this time there were two humans with the the two yellow-eyed monsters. They grabbed him by the hair and dragged him across the floor, threw him onto the mats. His broken arm hurt like hellfire.

“You know how to make this stop,” the human woman said coldly when he begged, pained and pleading, for them to cease. “Just use the Force and we won’t hurt you anymore.”

“No,” Luke said, and the word came from him and not from him—from his mouth but not from his heart. It came from something—some _one_ —else, borne of desperation and need, of a knowledge he did not know. _No_ , he said— _they_ said—united and complete, whole in a way Luke did not understand.

For some reason, his voice sounded like Leia.

He woke from that dream shaking and aching, his head pounding. He was afraid, he realized, sitting up in bed and wrapping his arms around his knees. Afraid for what, he did not know—only that he was terrified of, and for, something he did not understand.

He dreamed of them again, and again, each night for a week. Each time he heard Leia’s voice come out of his mouth, and each time he felt, stronger than the night before, that it was Leia who was sharing his body—or him who was sharing hers.

Each time he woke trembling and afraid, and he threw up after the last of the nightmares. They had beaten him— _them_ —almost to unconsciousness, and then had left them lying on the floor in a puddle of their own blood. They had tried to rise, tried to even sit up, but all they managed was grasping at the floor with their good arm and smearing their hand through the blood on the wooden floorboards.

“I’m worried about him,” he overheard his aunt say to his uncle the next morning. The two of them were in the kitchen, and Luke was just about to round the corner when he had heard his aunt’s soft voice and halted.

“A few nightmares never hurt anyone,” his uncle replied.

“But these aren’t normal nightmares, Owen,” his aunt said. “This is the second one he’s thrown up after.”

“What do you want to do?” his uncle asked. “Take him to a doctor? We can’t afford that, Beru. Besides, what could they do for him?”

“I don’t know,” his aunt said, frustrated. “Give him something to help him sleep, maybe.”

His uncle grunted. Then, after a moment, he said, “If he keeps having them, we’ll take him.”

“Thank you,” his aunt said softly.

Luke entered the kitchen then, smiling and pretending like he hadn’t heard their discussion. “Good morning,” he said brightly.

His aunt smiled at him, and his uncle’s eyes softened.

“Good morning, Luke,” his aunt said. “You ready for breakfast?”

“Yep,” Luke replied, and sat at the table.

His uncle looked at him for a long moment, standing by the stove with his arms crossed. Luke fought the urge to squirm under the scrutiny, and wondered what it was his uncle was thinking. But then his uncle nodded once, as if coming to some conclusion, and he moved to sit down at the head of the table.

“I need you out helping me in the west field today,” his uncle told him.

“Okay,” Luke said.

His aunt set a plate of griddlecakes in front of him, and Luke dug in, forgetting, for a moment, his aunt and uncle’s conversation, and the way his uncle had looked at him.

They were halfway done with the repairs on a shorted vaporator when their lookout droid, posted on the dunes beyond the fence, squawked an alarm. Uncle Owen grabbed Luke’s hand and made a dash for the landspeeder and their rifle. He shoved Luke into the backseat, took up the rifle, and readied for a fight.

A lone figure appeared at the peak of a dune a hundred yards away. He was robed and hooded, though Luke could not make out anything beyond that. He appeared as a dark shadow against the bright blue sky, the sunlight slanting behind him hiding him from closer inspection.

“Peace,” he called, as he drew near and saw the rifle aimed at him. “I come as a friend.”

“Ben,” Uncle Owen growled, and Luke perked up.

He had heard stories of Old Ben from his friends in town—had heard that he was a hermit blessed with the gift of magic, who was a friend of krayts and sarlaacs. Biggs claimed he had once seen Old Ben out in the midst of the desert, a storm of stone and sand whirling around him as if caught in a windless tornado. Windy had told the story many times of how she had once seen a reticent trader sell Old Ben a crystal after Old Ben had merely waved a hand and spoken a soft word.

Luke himself had seen Old Ben four times before, and each time Uncle Owen had sent him away with little more than a greeting and a farewell. “You can’t keep me away forever, Owen,” Luke remembered him saying the last time. “Luke _needs_ me.”

“You have no business here,” Uncle Owen had replied. “Not now. Maybe not ever. Let him be an innocent boy, and stay out of his life.”

Old Ben had left then, bowing slightly before turning and departing. Luke remembered the bow—remembered thinking how formal and alien it was. No one on Tatooine bowed. No one but Old Ben.

He had almost met him, one day when he was in Anchorhead hanging out with his friends while his uncle bartered for a spare spanner. He had felt eyes on him, and when he had turned he had seen Old Ben watching him from across the road. For a second, Luke thought he was going to come over to him. But then, instead, Old Ben merely bowed slightly, and turned and disappeared into the haze.

Uncle Owen lowered the rifle. “What do you want, Old Ben?” he called.

“To help,” Old Ben replied.

He entered the field through the gate and lowered his hood, and for the first time Luke got a good look at Old Ben. Ever before it had been at a distance, or around a corner as he spied on his Uncle and Aunt talking with him. Never before had he seen Old Ben clearly without his hood.

Luke wondered by he was called Old Ben. He looked young enough, with a ginger beard and hair carefully trimmed and brushed. His eyes were a startling blue, and beneath the patched robe he looked strong and fit.

Uncle Owen shifted, lifting the rifle half an inch in warning, and Old Ben halted a dozen steps away.

“How do you think you can help?” Uncle Owen asked across the distance.

“I believe Luke has been having nightmares recently,” Old Ben said. “And I suspect he’s been having strange visions of a girl.”

Luke’s blood ran cold. How did Old Ben know? He hadn’t told anyone about the day in the east field that he had felt Leia standing beside and before him. And the only people who knew about his nightmare were his aunt and uncle.

“And you can help with that?” Uncle Owen called.

“I believe I can.”

Uncle Owen snorted. “We don’t need your help, old man,” he said.

“I think you do,” Old Ben replied. “And I think you know that.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Uncle Owen said. “Now get off my property.”

“You can’t ignore this,” Old Ben said forcefully. “You can’t keep pretending that _Luke_ is normal.”

Uncle Owen lifted the rifle. “Get. Out.”

Old Ben hesitated, then bowed. “Farewell, then,” he said. And, turning, he strode away.

Luke climbed out of the landspeeder. “Uncle Owen?” he asked, leaning against the door. “What did he mean by ‘pretending that I’m normal’?”

“Nothing,” Uncle Owen grunted. “Old Ben is just a crazy old man.”

“He didn’t seem that old to me,” Luke said.

Uncle Owen barked a laugh. “No,” he said. “I suppose he’s not.”

“Then why is he called Old Ben?” Luke asked.

“He just is,” Uncle Owen said. “Now let’s finish getting that vaporator fixed.”

At dinner that night Aunt Beru asked, as usual, “Did anything interesting happen today?”

“Old Ben showed up,” Luke said. He had been itching to tell her about it, but it had never seemed like the right moment—until now.

“Old Ben?” Aunt Beru asked, surprised.

Luke nodded. “But Uncle Owen sent him away.”

“What did he want?” Aunt Beru asked.

“He said to help,” Luke replied.

Aunt Beru frowned and shot a glance to Uncle Owen. “Help with what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Uncle Owen said, cutting in. “All he wanted was to meddle.”

Aunt Beru’s frown deepened. “I see,” she said slowly.

Uncle Owen looked like he wanted to say something else. But he glanced at Luke, who was watching him, and held his tongue.

That night, as Aunt Beru was tucking him in, she said, “If Old Ben ever shows up again, I want you to tell me. Okay?”

Luke nodded. “Okay,” he said.

Aunt Beru tucked the sheets around him, then leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well, my little child of the desert,” she said with a soft smile.

Luke smiled in return, and snuggled deeper into the sheets. “Good night, Aunt Beru,” he said.

“Good night,” she echoed, and stood. Turning out the lights she left, closing his door.

Luke rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

That night he dreamed of Leia, and of the yellow-eyed monsters. Leia was bright and happy, offering to teach him how to swim. Luke readily accepted; he had always wanted to learn how to swim, impractical though it was on a desert planet.

“I never intended to stay on Tatooine,” he told Leia as they waded out into the shallows. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll end up on a water planet someday.”

In his second dream, the yellow-eyed monsters broke their other arm. “Get up,” the man growled, when they sat on the floor and cried in agony. “Get up,” he said again when they did not obey.

The yellow-eyed woman stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of their hair, hauling them into the air. They cried harder, and a plea fell from their lips.

“Use the Force,” the yellow-eyed man said. “Then we’ll stop. We’ll even bring you to see Dr. Ammit.”

“No,” they said, the refusal tasting like ash on their tongue.

Luke woke nauseous and sweating. He scrambled out of bed and dashed for the ‘fresher, wrenching open the door and landing on his knees in front of the toilet just in time to throw up his dinner.

Footsteps. Then Aunt Beru was there, kneeling by his side and murmuring soft, soothing words. “It’s okay,” she promised. “It was just a nightmare.”

 _It’s not okay,_ Luke wanted to cry. _Nothing is okay._

But his aunt was right—it was just a nightmare. And nightmares weren’t real.

_Right?_

~oOo~

Aunt Beru brought Luke to a doctor in Mos Eisley the next week. It took the better part of the day to drive there, and when they arrived it was to a white and sterile waiting room that made Luke feel grubby and small. The chairs were metal with thin cushions, and the floor was polished tile. The reception desk was made of gleaming durasteel, with plexiglass windows separating the receptionist from the patients.

“We’re here for the 1600 appointment with Doctor Zorak,” Aunt Beru said. Luke hovered by her shoulder, uncomfortable and nervous.

“For Luke Skywalker?” the receptionist asked, after typing a few commands into her computer.

“That’s right,” Aunt Beru said.

The receptionist handed Aunt Beru a pad through the window. “Fill this out, and bring it back when you’re done,” she said.

Leading the way, Aunt Beru found a seat by the window. Luke sat beside her, squirming on the chair to find the most comfortable spot. Then he peered over his aunt’s shoulder to look at what was on the pad. It was nothing interesting—just a lot of questions about his personal information and his past health records.

They had to wait for nearly an hour, even after Aunt Beru had turned in the pad with all of his information filled out.

“We’re sorry about the wait,” the nurse who collected them said. “Dr. Zorak has been very busy today.”

Luke looked around the empty waiting room and doubted that the nurse was telling the truth.

She led them back into a narrow hall that opened out into a large room filled with cubicles and lined with doors. The doors had numbers on them, and blinking lights off to one side: yellow, green, and blue. Luke wondered what they were for.

The nurse weighed Luke, asking him to take off his shoes, and then brought them to one of the rooms lining the wall. As they passed, she depressed one of the lights, which Luke saw now were buttons. The yellow light started blinking.

“I just want to make sure all of your information is correct,” the nurse said, perching on a stool and looking down at the pad she produced from a pocket of her lab coat. She then read through all of the information Aunt Beru had just provided. At the end she asked, “I understand that you’re here about some nightmares. Is that correct?”

Aunt Beru nodded.

The nurse made a note on the pad, then set it down on the counter, opposite the examination table Luke sat on. Aunt Beru was in a chair in the corner.

“Very good,” the nurse said, and stood. “The doctor will be in shortly.”

They waited for a quarter of an hour before the door opened and a tall, pale blue Twi’lek entered the room. He was broadly built and had sharply chiseled features, accenting green eyes so light they were almost white. He smiled, showing bright teeth, and offered his hand first to Beru then to Luke.

“My apologies for the wait,” he said. “We’ve been very busy today.”

Again, Luke suspected this was a lie. The doctor’s words felt slick and sharp beneath his tone, like steel and ice. They made Luke want to shudder.

“So, young Luke,” he said, perching on the same stool the nurse had sat on earlier. “What brings you here today?”

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Luke said warily. He glanced at Aunt Beru, desperate for her to look at him. This doctor made him uneasy, and he wanted out. But Aunt Beru did not look at him; her attention remained fixed on the doctor.

“I see,” Dr. Zorak said. “And what do you think I can do to help you with those?”

Luke shrugged.

“I was hoping,” Aunt Beru said, butting in, “that you might be able to prescribe him something that would help him sleep.”

The Twi’lek doctor nodded. “I see,” he said again. “Yes, I could do that. But before I do, I want to make sure that it’s something that’s actually needed.” He turned from Aunt Beru to Luke. “Tell me about these nightmares of yours.”

Even more wary, Luke began to recount his dreams. He did not, however, tell the doctor about the sense of _other_ that he felt—the sense that he was more than just himself. Instead, he acted as if the dreams, and his reactions to the dreams, were all about him.

“Those sound like some terrible nightmares,” Dr. Zorak said when Luke was done talking. “I’m not sure they’re bad enough for me to prescribe any medication, however.”

“Please,” Aunt Beru said, cutting in again. “He’s thrown up from them three times now. Surely that’s bad enough to warrant some type of sleep aid.”

“Three times, hm?”

“Yes,” Aunt Beru said, sounding desperate. “You have to help us. _Please_.”

The doctor picked up the pad and typed something into it. “I’m prescribing him Rothadol,” he said. “It’s a mild sleep aid. It should knock him right now, and should put a block on his dreams.” He finished typing and looked up. “You can pick it up on the ground floor of this building—that’s where I sent the prescription.”

“Thank you,” Aunt Beru said, relieved.

Luke was less relieved. He was not entirely sure that he _wanted_ the nightmares to stop—and was certain he didn’t want the dreams of Leia to cease. The nightmares, while horrifying and terrifying, felt somehow important, as if he was sharing something necessary with whoever it was with him there—the person who sounded, and felt, like Leia. And the dreams about Leia and the house by the lake were the best part of Luke’s day.

Aunt Beru stood, and Luke followed her.

“Thank you for your time,” she said, shaking the doctor’s hand.

“My pleasure,” Dr. Zorak replied with an easy smile.

They paid at the receptionist desk, Aunt Beru handing over a prepaid card that the family used when going into the city. The secretary ran the card, handed it back, and wished them a good day.

Aunt Beru led the way out of the office and into the lift, Luke at her elbow. They rode down in silence, then walked out into the lobby. It was gleaming and white, and made Luke shiver. It reminded him of something, though he could not seem to place his finger on what.

They found the pharmacy. It was sandwiched in the corner of the building, its glass door to the left of the main doors. They walked in to find a long, thin room with a counter along the left-hand wall, doors leading into a back filled with shelves upon shelves of bottles. A bell sat by a computer terminal in the middle of the counter, which Aunt Beru rang.

A woman dressed in a light blue blouse and dark pants, with dark hair and darker skin, covered with a white apron, appeared through the doorway. She smiled at the sight of Luke and his aunt, and came over to the counter.

“What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Doctor Zorak sent a prescription down for my nephew?” Aunt Beru said, somewhat hesitant.

The woman’s smile widened. “You must be the Skywalkers. Yes, I have his prescription almost ready.”

Aunt Beru ignored the incorrect name and stepped up to the counter. The woman disappeared into the back, only to return a moment later with a bottle in hand. She went over to the computer terminal and punched something in, then announced, “That will be fifty credits.”

Aunt Beru swallowed, then handed the money card over. The woman swiped it, then handed it and the bottle of pills over to Aunt Beru. She took them and buried both in the handbag she carried.

“Thank you,” she said cordially to the woman.

The woman’s smile did not falter. “Have a great day,” she said, and watched them leave.

That night, Aunt Beru gave Luke two pills and a glass of water when she came to tuck him in. Luke obediently swallowed the pills and drank the water, then handed the glass back to his aunt.

“Good night, my little child of the desert,” his aunt said with a small smile, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Good night,” he echoed, and then snuggled down deeper into his bed. His aunt closed the door, and the room fell into darkness.

Luke slept deeply that night—but troubled. He dreamed of Leia, and together they swam in the shallows and bathed in the sunlight on the shore, talking about where they most wanted to visit in the galaxy.

“Anywhere with a lot of water,” Luke said. “And a lot of green.”

Leia laughed at him, but it was a good-natured, friendly laugh. “That’s most places in the galaxy, you know,” she said.

“Maybe,” Luke said, and laughed at himself as well.

“Where do you want to go?” Luke asked Leia after a long moment of silence.

“Anywhere but where I am,” Leia replied.

“And where are you?” Luke asked.

“In a room.”

Luke laughed. “I’m in a room too,” he said. “I mean what planet are you on?”

“Coruscant,” Leia said softly, after another long moment of silence.

Luke gaped. “Imperial Center?” he asked, awed. “Wow,” be breathed. “That’s so cool.”

“Hmm,” Leia hummed, and did not reply.

The dream with Leia ended abruptly, however. One moment they were laughing and splashing water at each other, and the next he was wrenched away to a small room with a bed in one corner and a toilet and sink in another. A woman stood above them, hand upraised to slap him again.

“Get up,” she growled.

The image of the room jerked, as if a rug had been pulled out from under him. When the world reasserted itself, they were in the familiar room with mats and wood floors and walls. The four men and women he had come to know were crowded around them, tall and imposing and terrifying.

“Please,” they begged, curling onto their side. It hurt—a fierce, sharp pain shooting through their ribs and chest. But still they kicked them, hard and harder, until they couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

The scene jerked again. When it settled, they were screaming, holding their arm out in front of them. The bone protruded from their elbow, red and dripping, and blood pooled on the floorboards underfoot.

“Use the Force,” the yellow-eyed man said. “Stop us.”

Their tormentors closed in. “Use the Force,” the blonde-haired woman said. She reached down and grabbed their broken arm, wrenching it. They screamed again, and their vision swam and darkened.

They blinked, and the shadows crawled away from their sight. They were lying in a soft bed, arm in a sling and pillows propping them up. A man with dark hair and bright blue eyes, with a neatly trimmed beard darkening his jaw and a lab coat flowing from his shoulders, settled down onto the bed beside them.

“Oh 851,” he murmured. “I do wish you would obey the Inquisitors. You would save yourself so much pain.”

“I can’t,” they said. “If I do, bad things will happen.”

They blinked—and they were back in the room they had awoken in, feeling cold and empty and lonely. They lifted their arm and looked at it. The skin was smooth and peerless; there was no scar or sign of trauma. Slowly they ran their fingers over their elbow where the bone had ripped out. Only smooth skin met their fingertips.

Flopping back onto their thin pillow, they stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then they closed their eyes.

Luke woke.

Aunt Beru stood above him looking worried. She was gripping his shoulder, though her hand loosened when she saw him awake. Her mouth moved, and Luke was struck with the notion that she was speaking—but he could not understand the words she was saying.

“ _No comprondo,_ ” he said, the words falling from his lips with the ease of long familiarity.

His aunt looked shocked. “Luke?”

That word, at least, Luke understood.

“ _Sí_?”

“Luke,” his aunt said again, and then another string of words that Luke could not understand.

Luke shook his head. “ _No comprondo_ ,” he said again, getting frustrated.

“Luke,” his aunt said for a third time—and very suddenly her words made sense, “you’re scaring me.”

A beat. “I’m sorry, Aunt Beru,” he said, confused. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Her shoulders slumped and she looked relieved. “What were you saying just now?”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked.

“The words you were speaking—they weren’t Basic. What was it you were saying?”

An electric shock raced down Luke’s spine. “What do you mean I wasn’t speaking Basic? I was...I was just—”

“It doesn’t matter,” his aunt said quickly. “You’re speaking it now, and everything’s just fine. Now get up—it’s time for breakfast.”

Luke scrambled out of bed and dressed quickly, Aunt Beru disappearing toward the kitchen. He went out when he was ready, hair brushed and teeth cleaned, and sat at the table. Uncle Owen was already there.

“How did you sleep?” he asked, voice as gruff as usual, though Luke couldn’t help but notice the softness in his uncle’s eyes when he looked his way.

“I had another nightmare,” Luke admitted. “It dragged on and on, like I couldn’t escape it.”

Uncle Owen shared a look with Aunt Beru as she crossed to the table, a large bowl of oatmeal flavored with brown sugar and butter in her hands. She put the bowl down, sat, and then glanced at Uncle Owen again out of the corner of her eye. What message passed between them Luke couldn’t say.

They ate in silence broken only by the scrape of chairs on the floor as they shifted, and the sound of chewing. Luke only ate three bites before pushing his bowl away, his stomach twisting unpleasantly.

“Aren’t you hungry?” his aunt asked. “You didn’t eat much at dinner yesterday either.”

Luke shrugged. “I’m okay,” he said. “Just not very hungry.”

As he was scraping his bowl, Uncle Owen turned to Luke and said, “I want you helping your Aunt in the greenhouse this week.”

“Okay,” Luke said, nodding.

There was a small greenhouse attached to the house’s main courtyard. Green glass stretched over rows of tomatoes, corn, squash, strawberries, blueberries, and green beans. Small sprinklers fed mists of water into the air, humidifying the room and making it possible for the produce to grow.

The day passed in a blur for Luke. He helped his aunt harvest the first batch of bluberries. They ate lunch sitting in the dark soil imported in from offworld—it had cost nearly a fortune to buy enough to plant the greenhouse, but Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had thought it worth it, if they would be able to grow their own food—talking about simple and unimportant things as they munched their sandwiches.

By bedtime, Luke was exhausted. It felt like he hadn’t slept at all the night before—or had slept only one or two hours, like on the nights Uncle Owen woke him up to help with emergency repairs on the vaporators.

He was on his way to his room when he overheard his Aunt and Uncle talking in their room. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop, and he was about to pass by, when he heard his name. He hesitated, then pressed his ear to the door, crossing his fingers behind his back for luck in not getting caught.

“I don’t know what to do,” his aunt was saying. “It was even worse this morning. He was speaking in a different language—and when I asked him about it, he couldn’t explain it.”

“What do you want to do?” Uncle Owen asked, sounding tired.

“I don’t know,” Aunt Beru replied. “We can take him to another doctor maybe, get a different prescription—”

“You know we can’t do that,” his uncle said. “We weren’t even able to afford the first one, let alone the meds he prescribed.”

There was a frustrated silence. “We have to do _something_ , Owen,” Aunt Beru said.

“He’s just a growing little boy,” Uncle Owen said. “Growing little boys have bad dreams.”

“But if that was the case, the medicine should have helped him. But it’s like it made things worse.”

“Give it a few more days,” Uncle Owen said. “Maybe it’ll take a little while for the medicine to work.”

“Maybe,” his aunt said. Luke heard footsteps, and his aunt said, “I have to go tuck him in.”

Luke bolted away from the door, skidding around the corner and into his own room as he heard his aunt and uncle’s door open. He climbed into bed and lay back, drawing the sheet up over him as his aunt walked in.

She smiled. “Ready to sleep?” she asked him, settling down on the edge of the bed.

Luke nodded. “I’m really tired,” he admitted.

His aunt leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, then produced the bottle of sleeping pills from a pocket of her apron. “Here,” she said, and pressed two of them into his hand.

Luke swallowed the pills, drank the glass of water she handed to him, and smiled up at her.

“Thanks, Aunt Beru,” he said, and snuggled down deeper into his bed.

“Good night, my little child of the desert,” she said, smoothing the hair off of his forehead. “Sleep well.” She rose, turned out the lights, and left.

Luke closed his eyes.

He opened them to bright sunlight and the taste of water, just as he did every night. He turned and found himself standing on the veranda of the house by the lake. Leia was already there, sitting on the railing, perched like a bird about to fly.

“Hey,” Luke said, smiling and going to her.

“Hey,” she said, and hopped down. “Ready to go for a swim?” she asked. “I think you’re ready to make it out to the first island.”

“Yeah?” Lue asked.

Leia nodded. “Yeah,” she said.

Luke grinned. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

The swim only took about five minutes, but by the end of it Luke was tired. His arms burned and his legs ached, and he was glad to be able to flop down on the sand of the island’s nearest beach and stare up at the sky. It was darkening slowly, the sky fading from purple and pink to deep, velvet blue. The first stars were just beginning to come forth.

“I want to visit them all,” Luke said, lifting a hand to point at the first star, glinting brightly high overhead.

Leia laughed. “I’m not sure that’s possible,” she said.

Luke shrugged and dropped his hand. “I don’t care,” he said. “I want to try.”

They were silent for a long time after that, content to simply lay there and watch the stars come out one by one. Finally, though, Luke breathed, “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” Leia agreed.

They talked about their homes then, nestled in the stars overhead. Leia told him about Alderaan—about its rugged mountains and its whispering oceans, about the banthas that lived in herds high in the ranges, and about the glittering cities made of stone and glass.

Luke told her about Tatooine: about the sifting dunes of sand, about the sarlaacs hidden underfoot and the krayts screaming in the night, about his house buried underground, about the Tusken Raiders and his friends in Anchorhead.

When Luke woke, groggy and feeling as if a blanket had been thrown over his head. Turning to his nightstand, he checked his chrono: 0347. Still much too early to get up for the day.

Luke flopped back against his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. The last echoes of his and Leia’s conversation rang in his ears. _There’s not much to see,_ he had told her, when talking about Tatooine. But all the same, as he lay there and thought about her and her bright eyes, her laughter, the way she smiled, he realized he wanted to show her everything about his life: his aunt, his uncle, his friends, even the grueling work of moisture farming.

More than that, he wanted her to be a part of his life. Really, truly a part of his life, not just his dreams.

 _An imaginary friend can’t be part of your life,_ a voice whispered to him from the darkness.

“She’s not just an imaginary friend,” Luke said aloud to the night.

She wasn’t just an imaginary friend. She felt like so much more than a figment of his imagination. She _felt_ real—as real as Aunt Beru or Uncle Owen, as Biggs or Camie.

She _was_ real—to Luke, at least, even if not to anyone else.

Satisfied with his conclusion, Luke rolled over and closed his eyes again. Slowly at first, then all at once, Luke slid back into sleep.

He dreamed again of the practice court. The yellow-eyed aliens shoved and pushed them, called them names, knocked them to the ground. They dislocated their left shoulder, then their right, and laughed at their screams. Unable to move their arms at will, when the yellow-eyed woman shoved them, they hit the ground face-first. Blood gushed from their nose, coating chin and teeth, before it swelled shut.

Luke woke again to his aunt shaking him. “Luke,” she said—and as had happened the day before, Luke heard her speak and saw her mouth moving, but could not understand what it was she said.

“ _Tia,_ ” he said, “ _Qué dice_?”

His aunt began to cry.

“ _Tia Beru_ ,” Luke said, reaching up and grabbing her hand. “ _No lores. Pora favora. Tia…_ ”

“Luke, I don’t understand,” his aunt said. “What are you saying?”

“Don’t cry, Aunt Beru,” Luke said again. “I’m fine.”

His aunt sat down on his bed and wrapped him in a tight hug.

“Aunt Beru?” Luke asked. “What’s wrong?”

“You were speaking in that other language again,” she said, drawing back enough that she could look down at him.

Luke frowned. “I was?” he asked. But then he nodded. “I couldn’t understand you again either. It was like what you were saying was gibberish.”

His aunt shook her head, but said nothing more. Instead she stood, wiped her tears, and said, “It’s time to get up.”

Luke readied for the day slowly, thinking. Why did he keep speaking in another language other than Basic? He knew some Huttese, but his aunt would recognize that—she knew more Huttese than him, and in fact was the one teaching him, though it was his friends who taught him how to curse. Even so, he wasn’t fluent in Huttese. He wouldn’t be able to speak in full sentences, let alone without realizing it.

So what language was he speaking?

And why?

Breakfast was the blueberries they had picked the day before baked into muffins. Luke picked at his and only drank a few sips of his milk. His aunt looked worried and commented, “You haven’t eaten hardly anything since the day before yesterday. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” Luke said. “Just kinda tired.”

His aunt frowned, but promised him another muffin as a snack later in the morning, while his uncle looked on impassively.

“You still want me in the greenhouse today?” Luke asked, turning to his uncle at the end of breakfast.

Uncle Owen nodded. “And for the rest of the week.”

“Okay,” Luke said. He liked working in the greenhouse and with the plants there, though he liked working with machines more. Even so, he was happy to oblige his uncle.

He and his aunt were tending to the green beans, weeding thistles out from between the bushes, when there came a chime on the bell at their front door. Aunt Beru straightened, clapping her hands together to rid them of the soil clinging to them—though they remained darkened and streaked with it, her nails rimmed—and told Luke to finish with the row.

Instead of finishing the row as ordered, Luke also dusted off his hands and stood, following his aunt out of the greenhouse and into the courtyard. He looked up the stairs to the shadowed interior of the gatehouse, and as he watched, his aunt opened the front door, allowing a window of light into the dusty air of the dome-roofed little room. The bright mid-morning sunlight illuminated the hooks hung with hats and windbreakers, the small chest for work gloves, and the shelf filled with shoes.

A man’s deep voice said, “I’m sorry to intrude, Beru, but I needed to come.”

“Owen will pitch a fit if he knows you stopped by the house,” Aunt Beru said.

“I know,” the man said in reply. “But like I said—I had to come.”

“Why have you come?” Aunt Beru asked.

“To help Luke.”

“With what?”

“Luke’s nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Aunt Beru said, “Come on in.”

Aunt Beru and their visitor came down the stairs. Luke was only halfway surprised to see red-haired Old Ben following his aunt, a dusty traveling cloak thrown over his shoulders and a sunburn darkening his face. He smiled when he saw Luke.

“Hello there, Luke,” he said, coming over and putting out his hand. “I’m Ben.”

“Hi,” Luke said, suddenly shy. He shook Ben’s hand, then turned and retreated to his aunt’s side.

“Go get our guest a glass of water, will you, Luke?” his aunt said as she led the way into the house and to the living room.

“Sure,” Luke said, and trotted to the kitchen to do as she asked.

When he returned, it was to find his aunt sitting on the edge of the armchair shoved into the corner, while Ben perched uneasily on the sofa. The vidscreen sat on its shelf in the corner opposite the couch, sandwiched between bookshelves to either side. Pictures hung on the walls—of Luke as an infant and toddler, and two of him at seven when they went to Most Espa for a weekend vacation; of Owen and Beru on their wedding day; of Owen and his father; of Owen, his mother, and his father; and one of Owen’s stepmother laughing as Owen’s father handed her flowers.

“Here,” Luke said shyly, handing Ben the glass of water.

“Thank you, young Luke,” he said with a white smile. He had a pretty smile, Luke thought as he hurried to Aunt Beru’s side. She hugged him to her as he came to a halt beside the armchair, her arm wrapped around his waist.

“How do you think you can help?” Aunt Beru asked warily, staring at Ben as he took a drink of water.

Ben rested the glass on the top of his right leg, still half-full. “I can make the nightmares he’s having stop.”

“How do you know about those?” Aunt Beru asked.

“Because I have felt the Force shuddering from the weight of what is happening,” Ben said. “And I have felt their connection growing. Granted, I doubt anyone else will have noticed—yet. If I wasn’t looking for it, and hadn’t shared a bond with his father, I doubt I would have felt it myself. But that won’t last forever.”

“Connection?” Aunt Beru asked.

Ben hesitated. “The less you know, the better,” he said at last.

“I don’t understand,” Aunt Beru said.

“Good.” Ben turned his attention on Luke. “Tell me about the dreams you’ve been having,” he ordered.

Luke glanced up at his aunt, who nodded.

“In them, I’m me—but not me. It’s like I’m sharing someone’s body, or they’re sharing mine. There’s this practice room, with wood floors and mats. And there are these two aliens with yellow eyes, and two humans. And they push me down, and punch me, and hurt me.” Aunt Beru tightened her arm around him. “And sometimes there’s another man too, with dark hair and blue eyes. They call me “851”.”

“I see,” Ben said, and with his free hand stroked his beard. He was silent a moment, then he nodded and looked at Beru. “Please, Beru,” he said, “let me help your nephew. If these dreams are left unchecked, they could put him in danger.”

“Because of this...connection you spoke of?” Aunt Beru asked.

“In part, yes. But also because the dreams themselves may begin to...to change him.”

“Change him how?”

“Dreams like this can lead to darkness,” Ben said. “He could begin to grow unhappy, and even unkind—eventually even cruel. And even if the dreams do _not_ change him, he runs the risk of being discovered.” He gave Luke’s aunt a significant look, which Luke did not understand.

“How, though?” his aunt asked.

“Because of what is causing the dreams,” Ben said. “I dare not go into it—it would put you, and especially Luke, in danger—but just know that the root of these dreams lies in danger. You must allow me to sever the connection that is driving them.”

“Do you mean that Leia _is_ real?” Luke blurted. He could not understand what else Ben could mean by “connection” than that Leia was real—and that he was connected to her.

Ben frowned the perfect frown. “Leia?” he asked carefully. “I don’t know any Leia.”

But Luke knew Ben was lying—could feel it in his bones and in his blood, in the way they burned and whispered. Ben’s words felt slick and sharp, too perfectly cut and created to be anything but a lie.

“Then she is real,” Luke gasped.

Ben shook his head. “I couldn’t say,” he said. “Because I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Again, Luke felt the lie. He gripped his hands together behind him tight enough for his nails to dig crescents into his fingers.

 _I knew it,_ he thought. _She’s_ real.

His aunt looked from Ben to him, then back again. “Luke is in danger, though?” she asked.

Ben nodded. “He is. Grave danger.”

His aunt took a deep breath. “Then do what you must.”

Ben slid off of the couch and onto the floor, placing his glass of water on the carpet beside him. Then he patted the floor in front of him, and said, “If you would come sit here, please, Luke?”

Again, Luke glanced at his aunt, who nodded to him. Slowly, warily, he obeyed Ben, and sat down with legs crossed in front of him. Ben smiled, then said, “Don’t be afraid, young Luke.” Lifting his arms, he put his fore and middle fingers to Luke’s temples, pressing lightly. His fingertips were surprisingly cool against Luke’s skin.

“Breathe in,” he instructed. “Now breathe out, and imagine you are standing out on the dunes at night. The stars are out overhead, and you can see the arm of the galaxy. There is a cold wind, but the sand is warm beneath your feet.”

 _Luke_.

The voice was quiet and gentle, a whisper upon the wind. Luke turned, startled, looking for where the sound had come from, doubting even as he moved that it had been real.

“There is a golden cord wrapped around your hands,” Ben said. “It glows with a faint light, and as you lift your hands, you realize that it is rooted in your chest.”

_Luke, heed my voice._

Luke turned again, searching the sky now as well as the land for the source of the voice.

“The cord extends into the sky, and reaches far, far beyond the limits of this world.”

 _You have a long road ahead of you,_ the voice said.

“Who are you?” Luke called. “What do you want with me?”

“I am there with you,” Ben said—but even as he spoke, his voice grew fainter, until it was lost in the rustle of the wind over the sand.

A woman appeared around the edge of a dune. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed, her pale skin silver in the moon- and starlight. She was wearing a homespun dress and shawl, and her feet were bare.

“Oh, my child,” she said, coming close—and hers was the voice that had whispered to Luke out of the wind. “You have a long road ahead of you.”

“What do you mean?” Luke asked as she came close.

Lifting a hand, she cupped his left cheek and looked long and hard into his eyes. “Yours is a difficult path to walk—but walk it you must, or the galaxy shall fall to ruin.”

Luke frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Not yet,” the woman said. “But you will.”

And leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his forehead.

A series of images flashed through his mind, faster than light: flowers painted with blood; Leia, lying in a bed in the room Luke had seen in his dreams; a dark throne in a dark room hung with scarlet banners; a hulking, black carapace of a man, a mask hiding his face and harsh, mechanical breathing filling the air; a contrary old ship and the silhouettes of two beings: a man and a monster; the control yoke of a ship before him, a panel of lights and switches and buttons arrayed around him; Leia, her head shaved, being dragged between two red-clad guards; a boy with blue-black hair and a tall man standing behind him, tongues of blue flame in their hands; a Togruta, her teeth sharp and her smile sharper; a blue and green planet visible through the ship’s viewport, the sight of it almost hidden by a massive, black space station; a city in the clouds; a jungle, then ice and snow and wind, then a forest filled with eyes and teeth.

Luke gasped, and opened his eyes.

“The connection is severed,” Ben said, slumping back against the sofa. He gathered himself then and rose. “I thank you for your hospitality, Beru, Luke,” he said, bowing slightly. “I fear my time here has run its course, however. I will take my leave.”

Aunt Beru rose quickly from where she had been seated by Luke. He couldn’t even remember her sitting.

“Thank you,” she said, going to Ben’s side. She held out a hand, and clasped one of Ben’s hands warmly. “I can’t tell you how much this means… I mean, we were so worried…”

“Worry no longer,” Ben said. “It is taken care of.”

Then, just as he had promised, he took his leave.

“Don’t tell your uncle about this,” Aunt Beru instructed Luke, once they were sure Ben had left. “It would only upset him.”

Luke nodded. “Okay,” he said, bending down to pick up the glass of water Ben had left behind. He went into the kitchen and dumped it, then put the glass in the washer and followed his aunt back into the greenhouse.

They worked long and hard for the rest of the day, weeding the green beans, strawberries, and squash. Uncle Owen arrived home an hour before sunset, and dinner that night was a quiet affair. Luke ate twice as much as normal, to which Aunt Beru smiled, and he went to bed after washing.

“Good night, my little child of the desert,” his aunt murmured, kissing his cheek.

“Good night,” Luke said with a yawn. His aunt rose, turned out the light, and was gone. Luke fell asleep quickly, excited to see Leia and to swim with her in the lake.

But he did not dream of her, or the house by the lake, that night—or the next. Or the next.

He would not dream of the house by the lake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Good? Bad? Ugly? Let me know!


	15. Part 2: Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My second beta is back from her hiatus - but I ended up changing quite a bit since she read through it, so if you see any problems, assume they're my fault. In fact, blame the entire chapter on me. (sansa and absynthe both say they think the chapter good, but I have my doubts...lol. I've spent way too long staring at it and fiddling with it though and I am ready for it to be Done and Gone. Hopefully it doesn't suck too much...)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you can enjoy it.

CHAPTER 2

A month passed, then two. The pain of losing Leia and the house by the lake lessened gradually, fading from a sharp, stabbing pain of grief to a dull ache whenever Luke thought about it. He thought he would never quite forget Leia’s smile, or the way she laughed, or the fire that seemed to brim over in every thought and action—though as the days and weeks wore on, his image of her began to blur and fade.

He was wrong.

After a month, he tried to draw her. No matter how many times he tried, however, he was never quite able to capture her image. He was not sure if that was because he didn’t remember her well enough, or if it was because she was simply hard to draw. Regardless, all he did was waste paper—for which he earned a lecture from Uncle Owen.

So he put his charcoal pencil down, and went back to conjuring to mind her face every night before he fell asleep, hoping against hope that that would be the night he would find his way back to the house by the lake and her.

After the seventh week bled into the eighth, however, he realized that he could barely remember the outline of her face—could only remember her brown eyes and dark hair. What had her mouth looked like? Her nose? Had her chin been pointed or round? Were her cheeks plump or gaunt?

Meanwhile he worked harder than he ever had in his life. He threw himself into his chores and the tasks that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru set for him, wanting desperately to drive the pain out of his chest, his heart, his lungs. When he was working, he was able to forget for a little while the pain of parting.

“You’re working harder than usual,” his uncle commented one afternoon on their way home from the fields.

Luke just shrugged. “I guess,” he said.

Uncle Owen hesitated, then added, “Your aunt and I have been worried about you. You’ve seemed down.”

Luke thought about what to tell him. He wondered what his uncle would say if he talked about missing his friend from his dreams. That he was being a silly little boy, probably—because people in dreams weren’t real.

But Leia _had_ been. Old Ben had all but said so. Somehow, though, Luke didn’t think Uncle Owen would take it well if he told him that he knew Leia was real because he could sense Old Ben’s lies.

So all Luke did was shrug and say, “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Uncle Owen grunted, but did not say that Luke was too young to have a lot on his mind, and did not try to pry deeper. He simply gunned the landspeeder, and left Luke to his thoughts, for which Luke was grateful.

He told Biggs about her one day, when the two of them were hanging out on the hood of Luke’s landspeeder. Biggs had bought both of them drinks, and they were sipping the fizzy refreshments slowly as they sat on the warm metal of the hood, looking up at the faint wisps of cloud that were forming.

“She was the best friend you could ask for,” Luke said, oblivious to the flash of hurt that crossed Biggs’s face. “She was smart, and brave, and kind, and she knew exactly what to do to cheer me up. She and I played all sorts of games, like tag, and hide-and-seek, and bounty hunters and Imperials. And she had these dark eyes that seemed to burn when she’d look at you, and long, dark hair that she always wore in braids.”

“Sounds like you had a bit of a crush,” Biggs said, taking another sip of his drink.

Luke laughed. “No,” he said, completely honestly. “She was just a friend. She...she was like the sister I always wished I had.”

As the second month turned into the third, Luke began to grow restless. There was an itch in his mind and in his heart that he couldn’t seem to scratch—an itch that whispered of something forgotten that needed remembering, of something lost that needed to be regained. Luke hunted for an answer, looking for it in his work and in his friends, his family, his home. Nothing he did, however—and nowhere he looked—seemed to be right. He could never find the answer he was looking for.

The worst times were when he was on the verge of sleep or on the cusp of wakefulness. In those moments, it was like he could almost reach out and touch what it was he had lost or forgotten—could almost grasp what it was he was meant to find. It lurked on the edge of his awareness, whispering and begging to be caught, remembered, found. But then, just as he was about to seize it, or find it, or remember it, it would vanish as readily as smoke into thin air, leaving Luke irked and desperate.

Then, one day as he was out in the south field working on a vaporator with Uncle Owen, Luke felt it. His hands were buried in the guts of the vaporator, his mind and will bent on ordering the circuitry, when he noticed a small grain of sand nestled between his thoughts. It was bright, all at once gold and silver and turquoise like the desert sky, and it pulsed in time with his heart, drawing strength from the coursing of his blood, the marrow thick in his bones, the attention fixed on something he knew and loved.

He poked it, prodded at it. It pulsed again, brighter this time, and as his hands stilled and his thoughts contracted around the single grain of sand, it seemed to whisper to him.

 _I’m here_ , it said, voice soft and sweet like spring rain. _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here..._

And he knew, with a rush of satisfaction, relief, and hope cascading through him: This was what he had been searching for. This was what he had needed to find. This was what he had been trying to catch. This tiny little ball of light that he didn’t even really understand—didn’t understand how it could exist, or where it existed, or what it was meant to be—was what he had needed.

That night, as he lay in bed and looked at the ceiling, he prodded at it again. It had come and gone all day, fading in and out of obscurity, one moment glimmering with light, the next dark as space.

It was there now, though, glinting between his thoughts, alluring and tempting. Luke poked at it, felt it, tasted it. It was warm and bright, and it held the promise of words he could not quite make out. It seemed to whisper, but what it said he could not say.

He fell asleep like that, wondering what it was he had found.

It was there the next day, and the next. Luke continued to try to investigate it—prodding at it with thought and invisible fingers, trying to get it to respond. All it did was whisper its unintelligible words and glow, brighter and brighter, warmer and warmer, until it reminded Luke of a star. It was not a threat, though. Of that Luke was certain. It was a part of him, just like an arm or a leg, and could do no more damage to him than either of those.

By the end of the week, Luke was accustomed to its presence. It was a comfort to him, in a way he could not describe. Whenever he was bored or lonely, or was missing Leia and the house by the lake, he would sink deep into his thoughts and seek out the bright grain of sand. For a reason he did not fully comprehend, doing so made him less lonely—made him miss Leia and the house by the lake a little less.

It began to grow, as the first week ended and the second began. Luke noticed it first at dinner one evening. His aunt and uncle were discussing repair costs of the dead vaporators in the southern field, and Luke was bored. He sank into his thoughts, seeking out the ball of light—only to find that it was no longer tiny as a grain of sand, but was the size of coarse salt. Startled, he blinked and cut his connection with it.

He was back that night, however. He circled it, his thoughts surrounding it, his attention focused on it. It was even larger than it had been at dinner—though barely. Luke reached out and touched it, a formless spear of thought brushing across its surface.

 _I’m here_ , it whispered.

Its voice was Leia’s voice.

A rush of power coursed through him, accompanying the voice. It burned through him like fire, igniting his blood and crackling like electricity through the marrow of his bones. It yearned, and longed, and desired something Luke could not name—could not fathom, though it seemed just on the edge of his understanding.

Luke jerked back as if burned, wrenching his thoughts away from the ball of light that now burned with the light of a sun. His heart thundered in his ribs, choking him and making it hard for him to breathe.

Slowly, his heart rate slowed and Luke relaxed. The power was gone from him—the burning fire quenched, the electricity vanquished—leaving him alone and cold in its wake.

Very suddenly he wasn’t sure which was worse: the rush of power, or the emptiness left behind after it.

He drifted off to sleep that night cradling the grain of salt—but not touching it. He dared not touch it again. Not now; not yet.

Even though he did not touch it, however, the light called to him, siren-sweet and alluring. He tried to forget it—tried to push it out of his mind, or at least to forget it long enough to fall asleep. But no matter how hard he tried he could not make himself do so.

The secret, though—one hidden even from him, at least for the moment—was that he didn’t _want_ to forget or push it out of his mind..

The next morning Luke woke early. He climbed out of bed and dressed in the darkness of his room, then made his way out to the garage. He clambered up onto the roof and lay back, watching the grey of predawn fade to violet, to rose, to cerulean as the first sun rose.

Carefully, warily, drawn by intrigue and a morbid desire to feel again the rush of power, even though it had so terrified him, Luke prodded the grain of light buried in his mind. He nudged it with formless fingers, poked around it with a spear of thought. It pulsed and grew, and it felt to Luke as if his thoughts sank into it, the grain of light absorbing them and drawing him in.

For a long second he fought it. He was Luke, and he was laying on the roof of the garage, watching the suns rise. He was not part of the grain of light, it was part of him. He was himself, an individual alone, not beholden to this thing that grew and shone in him.

 _I’m here,_ Leia’s voice said again, and with it came a heady, exhilarating rush of power.

He was afraid, but this time he didn’t immediately sever the connection. Leia was on the other side of it—and that made the fear and the terrifying rush of power worth it. Right? If it meant meeting her again, anything was worth it. Wasn’t it?

Luke let himself go.

He opened his eyes to darkness—a darkness so complete it was almost tangible. It was not the darkness of night, or even the darkness of Luke’s room when his aunt closed the door, for light crept in through the cracks in the frame and his chrono shone a red glow over his bed. Rather it was the very antithesis of light—the complete absence of it.

 _“Hello?”_ he called—but his voice did not disturb the air. It was silent, echoless and substanceless, empty and void.

He felt startlement, then fear, though it came not from him.

Then, aloud, someone said, “Hello? Who...who’s there?”

He knew that voice.

 _“Leia?”_ he asked, again with a soundless voice.

A brief pause, of amazement and wonder—of hope. Luke could taste it, as readily as if he felt it himself—though he knew it did not come from him, even if he could feel it swelling in his breast and in his bones. It came from the other person—from _Leia_ —the emotions tainted with the very essence of _her_ , which Luke could now feel: bright blue and deepest violet, like desert sky and towering mountains; fire, warm and bright and red, gold, orange; the sharp bite of stubbornness borne of hard times and harder lessons; darkness, creeping and secretive, crawling at the very edges of her bright light, trying and failing to sink claws into her heart, which he could feel beating in his chest.

“Luke.” His name was a breathless sonata on her tongue, falling from her lips and tongue like dew. “Luke, I...I thought you were gone forever.”

 _“I did too,”_ Luke said. _“Thought you were gone forever, I mean.”_

“What happened?” Leia asked. “Why did you leave me?”

 _“Old Ben,”_ Luke tried to explain. An image of the man came to Luke’s mind, and he felt it slide into Leia’s as well, fully formed and realized. _“He came, and he talked about severing the connection. And he did_ something _to me. And then I stopped dreaming about you.”_

“How is this even possible?” Leia asked to the darkness.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Luke said. _“There was this little...grain. Of light. I touched it, and fell into it, and found myself here, with you. I can’t see anything, though.”_

“There’s nothing _to_ see,” Leia said. “I’m in a dark room.”

 _“What happened?”_ Luke asked.

“They got sick and tired of me. They called me a worthless brat, said I was untrainable, and threw me in here.”

 _“Who did that?”_ Luke asked, anger burning through him, igniting his thoughts to red and gold and bruised violet.

He felt Leia shudder at that, recoil away from him. Luke fought to bridle the anger, forcing it to bleed out of his thoughts and out of his heart. He did not want to frighten her—did not want to even make her uncomfortable.

“I can still feel your anger,” Leia said softly. “I can...I can feel all of you, almost. All of your thoughts, your emotions, like they’re in my head.”

Luke sighed, and felt himself sink deeper into Leia’s mind. He saw flashes, bright and fast: blood on flowers, the men and women from his nightmares, a tall man he hadn’t dreamed of with yellow eyes and red markings on his forehead and cheeks, the doctor. He felt emotions: hope, and joy, and beneath it all a deep, abounding sense of loss and bereavement, sorrow.

 _They abandoned me_ , a soft voice whispered when Luke focused on the sorrow, the words as much sinking into his heart from the deep, weeping wound as spoken. _They didn’t want me._

_No one wants me._

_“_ I _want you,”_ Luke said without thinking.

Silence. Then, softly, Leia said, “Really?”

 _“I came for you, didn’t I?”_ Luke asked. And he showed her the grain of light that he had found in his mind, the voice whispering to him from it—Leia’s voice—and the moment he gave in and sank into it, choosing her voice above his fear.

A beat. Then, “Yes, you did.”

_“I’ll always come for you.”_

The promise felt brash and brazen, half-dared and half-known. It bubbled up in him, bursting forth before he could question it—its truth, its wisdom, its understanding. But as soon as he uttered it, he felt its truth in his bones and in his blood, sunk deep within his soul.

He was bound to her, just as Old Ben had said.

Luke remembered playing with her in the house by the lake, remembered learning to swim in the shallows, remembered the final day on the island’s beach when they had stared up at the stars. He remembered her voice whispering to him from the grain of light. He remembered the thrill of amazement, wonder, and hope he had felt from her the moment he had spoken into her mind.

He remembered all of that—and he knew, deep within himself, that he had found something in Leia that he had never realized he was missing.

She was a part of him. He was a part of her. And there was no going back from that.

 _“I’ll always come for you,”_ Luke said, and he meant it.

“Luke?” a voice called. “Luke!”

He opened his eyes to bright blue sky. The first sun had risen, and the second was peering above the horizon. The metal of the garage’s roof was warm beneath his back, and Luke knew he would be pink from sunburn by the afternoon.

Luke sat up and looked over the edge. Aunt Beru stood there, shading her eyes with a hand as she looked up. She smiled when she saw him, and said, “Come on down. It’s time for breakfast.”

“Okay,” Luke said, and slid down off the roof.

The grain of light in Luke’s mind pulsed and whispered. Luke listened with half an untrained ear, clumsily feeling the connection that had not waned between him and Leia, even after he had pulled out of her mind and back into his own. It was still there, still strong, still pulsing with untapped power and knowing.

“I’ll be back,” Luke whispered aloud, and hoped Leia could hear it.

Then he went inside to breakfast.

~oOo~

Leia lay on the floor and sobbed. The warmth and light—the hope—she had felt when she had heard Luke’s voice was gone as surely as daylight at dusk, only the faintest echoes of it remaining on the edges of her mind and soul.

She was in a completely dark room, the ceiling high and the walls long and narrow. The door was at the head of the room, the back of it eight steps away. It was only three steps side-to-side, however—Leia could reach both walls at the same time when she was laying on the floor—leaving her feeling cramped and claustrophobic.

It felt like forever since the Grand Inquisitor had come into the white cell and released her hands from the chain. He had grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the room, over Malothar’s and Thirteenth Sister’s corpses, Leia bent half-double and stumbling after him. He had taken her down the hall, nearly to the lift, then turned and opened a metal door set deep into the wall. “You a worthless brat,” he had said. “Untrainable, and worthless.” He had given her a shove, sending her tumbling to the permacrete ground, and slammed the door shut, leaving her in total darkness. Her hands smarting, she had lunged to her feet and ran toward the door—only to slam into it face-first. She had fallen back, blood trickling from a quickly swelling nose, and she had banged her fists against the door.

“Let me out,” she had screamed. “Please, let me out!”

No one had come.

It had taken what Leia guessed was three days—though she had no real way of knowing, besides the infrequent trays of food and water that were slid through a grate beneath the door—for the hallucinations to start. What had begun as dots and lines of color had turned into thrantas and pittens, into men and women Leia had known.

She saw Sabé, and Malothar, and Seltha, her nursemaid. Seltha had been killed after Malothar; it was after her death that Leia had been brought to the dark room. She saw Rebécca, and the burned and charred faces of those who had died in the apartment trying to stop Twelfth Brother. She saw, again and again, her father standing up from a bed of glass and bloodied flowers, his body misshapen and eyes hollow, mouth filled with maggots when he opened it to speak to her.

She saw many things—many bright and beautiful things, as well as horrifying. She saw fairies and angels, ghouls and demons. She saw the Palace of Alderaan, and the Imperial Palace. She saw Aldera, and the river of lava from her nightmares.

She saw Shmi lashed to a wooden cross, blood on her face and her clothes half-torn from her body. She saw a beautiful, dark-haired woman lying in a hearse drawn by a team of horse-like creatures; the woman was pregnant. She saw again the two men on the lava’s riverbank, one of them standing above the other, weeping while the man below him burned.

She saw her father now, body broken and blood on his robes, standing in the corner of her vision. His eyes were empty and dead, his flesh beginning to slough away from his bones as it rotted. He did not speak—merely stood there and watched her.

“Luke,” she said through her sobs, curling into the fetal position, arms over her head. “Luke, don’t go,” she begged.

But only silence answered her.

Had Luke really been there? Had he really been in her head? It had seemed like it—but the more she thought about it, the more Leia realized that what she thought had happened was impossible. People couldn’t speak to other people in their heads, could they?

 _They could if he was imaginary_ , a sinister voice whispered to her from the depths of her heart where her fear and doubt dwelled. _If you’re just making him up, of course he could talk in your mind._

“No,” Leia whispered to the air. “No, he’s real. He’s _real_.”

 _Is he, though?_ the voice asked.

“Yes. Yes he is. He...he has to be.”

She didn’t think she could bear it if he wasn’t—if he was only a product of her desperate imagination.

_But how can I know for sure?_

“I can’t,” Leia said aloud in answer to her own question. “But I can decide to trust myself. I can decide for myself if he’s real.”

 _That’s not how it works_ , the snide voice said.

Leia gritted her teeth and snarled, “It can be.”

The snide voice retreated then and fell silent.

Her father looked on, half of his face now rotted away, leaving only bare bone and one empty eye socket staring at her.

She thought back over their conversation. Luke had talked about a grain of light buried in his thoughts—a grain he had fallen into. Maybe—maybe there was a grain of light in her mind, just like his.

She closed her eyes, though there was no change in light. Taking a deep breath, Leia fought down the frantic beating of her heart, the clench of her stomach, the small tremors wracking her bones and body.

 _Calm down,_ she ordered herself. _There’s nothing to be afraid of in here. They’re just hallucinations. No one is going to hurt you._

That was the one good thing about being in here, Leia had decided after the first hour had crawled by. No one was hurting her. She was alone, and though she was cold and the floor was hard, the darkness was soothing, comforting, embalming. It hadn’t been at first—at first it had been terrifying, hiding all sorts of nightmares that she couldn’t see—but by the end of the first day it had become her companion, her confidant, her friend.

Not like the hallucinations that had followed.

Slowly, her heart rate, which had been elevated ever since she had first heard Luke’s voice, settled. Her stomach unclenched, and the tremors eased.

 _Think_ , Leia told herself. _Find that grain of light._

She tried for hours—or, at least, what felt like hours. She dug through her thoughts, pulling them out one by one, stringing them up piece by piece and thread by thread. She rooted around between them, searching along the avenues of her mind and down the alleys of her emotions. She found only darkness, confusion, horror, despair, and sorrow.

No golden grain of light.

The grate on the bottom of the door slid open and the tray of food that Leia was given once a day slid through. Leia lunged for it before the grate could close, fingers wrapping around the wooden cup of water before her light, faint as it was, was gone. She had learned very quickly that, if she did not get it while she could see, she was more likely than not to knock it over, spilling what precious little water she was given.

She gulped the water down. It tasted metallic and thin—a stark contrast to the sweet, heavy taste of the water she had been given while working with the Inquisitors—but it was water all the same, and she was parched. It was cool and soothing as it slid down her throat, and Leia sighed with delight and relief.

Putting the cup down, Leia fumbled for the hunk of bread sitting on the tray. Her fingers brushed over it, and she picked it up. She took a bite, and for a second almost choked—it was dry and heavy, dusty, soaking up all the moisture left in her mouth from the water—but she forced herself to swallow. She took another bite.

Once she was done, Leia settled back down on the floor, lying on her back and couching her head with her clasped hands. She stared up at the ceiling she could not see, and once more thought about Luke and the grain of light he had described.

 _Do I not have it?_ she wondered.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. In and out. In and out. In, out…

She stood above the fire of the Force that burned in her blood and bones. It was hidden and quenched, rain falling constantly on the glass and durasteel panes, hissing and sparking with smoke.

Was this the light that Luke had spoken of? Was the light he had found his Force? The Grand Inquisitor _had_ said that the Force looked different to different people. Could she use the Force to contact Luke?

But that would be dangerous. She wasn’t supposed to use the Force, and for good reason. She couldn’t start playing with it now, even if she did want to talk to Luke again.

No. She would wait for him to contact her again. Shmi had never said anything about _Luke_ using the Force, just her.

She just hoped he _would_ contact her—hoped it hadn’t just been a fluke, a happy accident that would never happen again. Even more than that, though, she hoped hearing him hadn’t just been a figment of her imagination, a friend conjured by a scared little girl who wanted to find something kind and peaceful in a world that was anything but those things.

Miserable, her eyes puffy from crying and the backs of her hands smeared with snot from trying to dry her nose, Leia curled into a ball and went to sleep. Perhaps things would make more sense when she woke.

_“Leia?”_

Leia blinked her eyes open, certain she had heard someone call her name.

_“Leia, are you there?”_

“Luke?” Leia gasped aloud, the hope that had withered in her chest flaring suddenly back to life.

She felt something alien and strange—a presence, bright and shining with an inner light, strong and stolid—slide into her mind, settle between her thoughts. It was familiar, somehow—known, understood, the last piece of a puzzle she had not even known was incomplete.

 _“I’m here,”_ Luke said, and Leia could tell he was smiling—could _feel_ it in his words and in his thoughts, which were pressed against hers, smooth like glass and warm like fire. _“I came back as soon as I could, but Uncle Owen wanted help with a really stubborn vaporator, so I had to eat lunch while working.”_

“Where are you now?” Leia asked.

 _“On the roof of the garage,”_ Luke said, and Leia caught a glimpse, as if through a window, of a sky turning to dusty orange and brilliant red.

“Did you just send me a picture?” Leia asked. “Was that sky what you’re seeing?”

 _“It worked!”_ Luke exclaimed, excited. _“I figured since I can put my thoughts in your head, why not put a picture?”_

Leia smiled. It felt strange and uncomfortable, her cheek muscles stiff. “It did work.”

 _“You’re smiling,”_ Luke said. It was not a question.

“How did you know?” Leia asked.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Luke said. _“I just...could feel it.”_

Leia curled into a tighter ball, fighting a shiver. “I’m cold,” she said softly—to Luke, to the cold, to no one.

 _“I wish I could help you,”_ Luke said.

Leia felt as the thought came to him—could feel it like a flower blooming in her mind, pressing against her own thoughts, expanding to fill the spaces between.

 _“I was able to send you a picture,”_ Luke said. _“Maybe I can send you a feeling!”_

He concentrated. Leia felt the alien thing in her mind contract, harden, turn from brilliant light to hard, grey iron. It was solid and firm, but still shone with an inner glow.

 _“Here,”_ Luke said. _“Can you feel this?”_

“Feel what?” Leia asked.

And then she felt it: a snaking warmth beginning in her head and trickling down her neck and into her shoulders. It pooled in her stomach, liquid heat, bright and hot. Her limbs remained cold, but she was warmer than she had been in a long time.

“How did you do that?” she asked Luke.

_“I thought about how I sent you the picture. Then I pictured the head from the roof sinking into me, and through the grain of light I told you about.”_

“It feels like I stepped into a warm shower,” Leia admitted.

 _“You’ve been in a real water shower?”_ Luke gasped.

Leia laughed. The sound surprised her; she hadn’t laughed aloud since her father had died. That thought sobered her, and as always happened when she thought about her father, she felt a rush of pain and sorrow overwhelm her.

 _“Leia?”_ Luke asked. _“Are you okay?”_

Leia thought of flowers, and blood, and glass glittering like a halo beneath his head.

 _It could have been beautiful,_ she thought, _in a strange sort of way._

 _“The flowers?”_ Luke asked. _“Is that what you mean by beautiful?”_

Shocked, Leia asked aloud, “Did you just read my thoughts?”

 _“I don’t know,”_ Luke admitted. _“But it was like I heard you say something to me, but in my head. Not like I was hearing it with my ears—well, with your ears, I guess.”_

 _“Can...can you hear me?”_ Leia asked silently.

 _“Yeah,”_ Luke said. _“I can._

 _“Leia?”_ Luke asked then. _“Who...who died?”_

Leia was silent for a long moment. Finally she told Luke softly, _“My father.”_

An assortment of memories flashed through Leia’s mind. Her father picking her up and placing her on his hip; her father dancing with her standing on his toes; her father telling her to pick up her toys, “Or so help the Mother, Leia, you will be grounded for a week”; her father kissing her goodnight and turning off the lamp by her bedside; her father laughing.

She knew— _knew_ —Luke had seen them all.

 _“He seemed really amazing,”_ Luke said softly.

 _“He...he was,”_ Leia replied. _“He really was.”_

 _“I wish I could have met him,”_ Luke said.

_“I do too. I think he would have liked you.”_

Once again, Leia could feel Luke’s smile. _“I hope so. Will you tell me more about him?”_

Again Leia paused. But then she said quietly, _“What do you want to know?”_

~oOo~

Darth Vader was both tired and irritated.

It had been a year since he had been home to Coruscant. The Emperor had kept him busy, sending him from Mid Rim planet to Outer Rim planet to hunt a Jedi that was supposedly living out in the backwater dredges of the galaxy—but secretly, Vader suspected that the Jedi was nothing more than a rumor planted by Palpatine himself to keep Vader busy. The Emperor did not want him at the Palace for some reason—Vader just didn’t know why, though he had his suspicions. All of them were related to Leia Organa.

Thus his irritation.

It had been a long and grueling year. He’d gone for days without sleep, and weeks without rest, chasing the ghost of the Jedi that he didn’t think existed. The Jedi’s trail had led him through some of the worst and seediest places of the galaxy, into and amidst the worst sorts of crowds. He did not know how many smugglers he had tortured, how many slavers he had killed when they did not give him the information he wanted.

“The Bane of the Underworld,” he had heard himself called in the later months. And “The Black Death”. He reveled in those names, found them a ray of light in the darkness of his fruitless hunt.

At last, however, the Emperor had called him home. “I have a task for you on Coruscant,” he had said in his message to Vader. “The Senate is about to commence, and I want you here to bring them to heel.”

It was a task Vader was not looking forward to—dealing with politicians was just as exhausting as the most intense day of the chase—but he was glad to be on Coruscant, and away from the futile hunt for the ghost of the Jedi. He had grown sick of the pointless mission, and of the lengths to which he was driven to search for him, after the first two months.

He finished uploading his files to the Imperial database and rose from the chair behind his desk. For a moment he stood at the windows, looking up at the lights arrayed against the night sky. Then he turned and strode out of his office.

He remembered the last time he had been in his office. Jak had brought him news of the Force Sensitive Leia. He had gone to see her—and had regretted that decision at once. He could still recall the scream of the Force around him, could remember her piercing eyes that reminded him so much of _Her_.

 _But why_ , he wondered now. _Why did they remind me so much of Her? Many people have dark eyes, just as she did. What was special about Leia Organa?_

He had no answer to that question. Only the echoes of profound hope and terror he had felt when he had seen her eyes, sharp and burning.

Vader wondered what had happened to her. Jak had sent a report to him every week for twelve of the thirteen months he had been gone. His last report had come five weeks past, and had consisted of only two lines:

_They have moved 851. I haven’t been able to find where they moved her to._

It seemed she had simply disappeared.

In spite of himself, Vader found himself wondering what had become of her. He had not visited again since that first uncomfortable meeting, but she had remained in his thoughts—and not only because he suspected Palpatine intended to replace him with her, once she was trained. She and her eyes had claimed his thoughts, nearly to obsession. Yet he had not gone back to see her; though he would not admit it, he was afraid to see her eyes again.

But where had she gone?

While he was here on Coruscant, Vader decided, he was going to find her—to keep tabs on her, on the girl who was supposed to take his place as Palpatine’s right hand. In a secret, hidden part of him, however—one that still listened to the scream of the Force whirling around him, one that still hoped to believe in the impossible—it was because of her eyes.

She had had _Her_ eyes, though Vader had convinced himself he believed otherwise. He had convinced himself that he believed that her eyes were just the eyes of another sad, frightened little girl. That _Her_ eyes had died with Her and their unborn child. That there was no way for Leia Organa to have _Her_ eyes.

The truth, however, was that he did believe Leia had _Her_ eyes.

Even though that was impossible.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Did it suck as much as I think it did? Let me know!


	16. Part 2: Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me getting an update out early! I just couldn't wait to share it with y'all, so here it is.
> 
> Huge, huge thanks (as always) to my two fantastic betas, absynthe--minded and princess-sansa-of-ithilien. Without them this fic wouldn't be nearly as good as it is.

CHAPTER 3

Time passed slowly for Leia, locked in the dark room. Her only marker for the passage of time was the infrequent plates of food and cups of water, and Luke. 

Every morning Luke would wake quickly to his chrono blaring a harsh melody. He would roll over and silence it, then lay back and call to mind the thread of light that pulsed in time with Leia’s heartbeat. It had grown since the first day Luke had sunk into it, transforming slowly from a single grain of sand to the thread that now connected them, his mind to hers, her thoughts to his.

They would talk for an hour, Luke laying in his bed, Leia on her duracrete floor. Then his aunt would come in to rouse him, and Luke would pull out of Leia’s mind and ready for the day, feeling cold and empty and sad, as if some part of him had been left behind with Leia.

The days dragged on and on—or so it seemed to Luke. He would help his uncle out in the vaporator fields, or his aunt around the house, longing for the moment his aunt or uncle said, “That’ll be all for today, Luke. Go play.” Then he would race off for the garage, clamber up on the roof, and call for Leia again, letting himself sink down, down, down the thread that bound them, until he was hanging amid her thoughts and between her emotions.

He was with her one day when a tray was brought. He heard the grate of iron against duracrete, and then, as if he was seeing it with his own eyes, caught a glimpse of blinding light and a shadow imprinted on the other side. Tin scraped against duracrete, and then there was a clang as the light was cut off.

Leia crawled to the tray. Luke felt every movement as if it was his own—as if he was the one fumbling carefully for the cup of water, the one picking it up with shaking hands, the one bringing it to his lips and gulping down the water in it. He was one with Leia, as much her as he was Luke.

_ “That was cool,” _ he told her.

_ “What was?” _ she asked, putting the cup down and flattening her hands on the floor to search for the bowl of thin gruel she thought she’d glimpsed.

_ “It was like I  _ was _ you for a minute there,” _ Luke said.  _ “Like we were one person, instead of me inside your head.” _

_ “Oh,” _ Leia said.  _ “That sounds...weird.” _

Luke laughed, knowing Leia could feel his amusement.  _ “It was,” _ he said.  _ “But also cool.” _

Slowly—painfully slowly, to Luke’s reckoning—he got better at reaching down the thread to touch Leia’s mind. Each day he was a little faster, each week it took a little less concentration. Soon enough he was able to walk down the path carved between their minds as soon as he closed his eyes.

Two months after he had contacted her for the first time since Old Ben had severed their connection, he was standing in the garage working on the engine of the landspeeder when, almost accidentally, he reached out for her. His mind slipped into hers.

It was easier than he would have expected. One second he was elbow-deep in the landspeeder engine, the next he was surrounded by darkness. He blinked, feeling his body on the other end of their connection freeze—and then he pulled halfway back, drawing enough of his consciousness back into his own body that he was able to move.

Before this he had, once he was in Leia’s mind, been able to share with her snippets of things that he saw and things that he felt. But ever before it had been passive: the image of whatever was before his eyes, the sensation he was feeling at that moment. Never before had he been able to do anything but lie still while he was talking to her—had never before been able to move and act while in her mind.

Now, however, it was like he was sharing his mind with her, rather than existing in her thoughts. It was like his thoughts were side-by-side with hers—and he could still feel her, could still sense her emotions and the chill she felt in her bones—but that he still existed in his own body.

_ “Leia?” _ he asked, tentative, unsure if she would be able to hear him.

_ “Luke?” _ came her startled reply.  _ “I wasn’t expecting you yet. Did something happen?” _

_ “No,” _ Luke said, feeling the spear of concern that struck through her.  _ “I’m working on our landspeeder, and I didn’t...I mean, I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I just tried to reach for you, and I was here.” _

He pulled his hands out of the engine and leaned down for a wrench.  _ “Can you still hear me?” _ he asked, rising and reaching back into the engine to loosen a bolt.

_ “Yeah,” _ Leia said.  _ “You feel...different, even though you’re the same. Like only part of you is here.” _

_ “That makes sense,” _ Luke said, catching the bolt as it fell and putting it in his pocket. He leaned up on his tiptoes and felt around for the second bolt.  _ “I’m there, but I’m here too.” _

_ “What are you doing?” _ Leia asked after a moment. She could feel his concentration.

_ “Replacing a busted hose,” _ Luke told her. He loosened the final bolt and pulled out the engine part that the hose was attached to. Turning, he set it down on the stool he had dragged over for just that reason, and propped the wrench up against one of its legs.  _ “Uncle Owen said he’s been meaning to do this for ages. The ‘speeder still works, but the engine gets really hot, and so you can’t drive fast. Which is a problem if you’re trying to outrun something. I finally convinced Uncle Owen to let me change it this morning.” _

_ “What kinds of things would you be trying to outrun?” _ Leia asked. Though Luke had told her about Tatooine, she still didn’t understand much about the dangers that the desert offered.

_ “Sand People mostly,” _ Luke said. 

_ “What are Sand People?” _

_ “Desert nomads who torture and kill settlers. They rarely come into settlements or close to houses, but if you’re out on the open road—or out on the edge of the farm—you’re fair game. That’s how my grandma died,” _ Luke admitted.  _ “She was out on the outskirts of the farm one morning, gathering mushrooms from the vaporators, when she was taken. By the time they found her she was dead.” _

_ “I’m sorry,” _ Leia said.

_ “It’s okay,” _ Luke said.  _ “She died before I was born. Uncle Owen gets sad when we talk about her though. She was only his stepmom, but he really loved her.” _

_ “What was her name?” _

_ “Shmi.” _

Luke could feel Leia’s shock through their bond. It radiated up the thread connecting them, settling into the pit of his stomach like a fist of ice.

_ “Leia?” _ he asked.  _ “Are you okay?” _ He concentrated, allowing himself to sink deeper into her mind, where he could better feel and sense her.

_ “I’m fine,” _ Leia said gruffly. He felt her gather her thoughts—and then there was a wall before him, like durasteel and diamond. He pressed against it, searching for Leia’s thoughts and feelings. But he couldn’t get past the wall.

_ “Leia?” _ Luke called.  _ “Leia, what’s wrong?” _

_ “Nothing,” _ Leia said. 

A thrill of relief flowed through Luke; at least he could still hear her. He just couldn’t feel her emotions or sense her thoughts. 

_ “It’s just… Never mind,” _ Leia said.

The wall lowered a moment later, and Luke was able to feel the fading tingle of shock receding from Leia’s body. But no matter how hard he pressed, or how deeply he tried to search, Luke was unable to discern what had so badly startled her. Every time he thought he was getting close, he would run into another wall—shorter and thinner than the first one, a hill to a mountain though no less impenetrable—and would be able to search no further.

Things changed after that day. Luke was able to enter Leia’s mind at will with only a thought, even while out working on the vaporators or weeding in the greenhouse. His uncle commented dryly one day a few weeks later that Luke had hardly said a word during lunch lately, to which Luke replied, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“And what is so important that you finally learned the quality of silence?” Uncle Owen asked. He had always been a man of few words—as Luke had known ever since he was old enough to toddle—but he had put up with Luke’s chatter during lunch and while they worked for ten years. It should not have been surprising, Luke reflected, that he notice Luke’s new silence.

“A friend,” Luke said by way of answer after a few seconds of tense silence. “I’m worried about a friend.”

It was true, Luke told himself. He  _ was _ worried about Leia.

She was alone—save for him—and cold, lying on a hard, duracrete floor with only a pair of thin pants and a thinner shirt for warmth and protection. She slept with her arms beneath her head and her knees drawn to her chest to preserve body heat, waking every so often when her hands fell asleep or her hip began to hurt from the floor.

She had also told him about the hallucinations. He had been laying in bed, talking to her as he drifted off to sleep, when abruptly she changed subjects and said,  _ “Thank you.” _

_ “For what?” _ Luke had asked.

_ “For being here,” _ she had said.  _ “For not leaving me alone.” _

He could feel there was more she wanted to say.  _ “Any other reason?” _ he prompted.

_ “I… Before you started talking to me, I was seeing things all the time,” _ Leia said.  _ “Bad things. And some good things, but mostly bad things.” _

_ “Like what?” _ Luke had asked. 

_ “Like my father. And other people who died. Bugs too, and walls rotting and bleeding. Stuff like that.” _

Luke had shuddered then.  _ “Do you still see them?” _

_ “Sometimes,” _ Leia admitted.  _ “Usually when you haven’t talked to me for a while.” _

_ “Well then I’ll talk to you as much as I can,” _ Luke had said.  _ “I know that isn’t much right now, but I’ll practice. I’ll get good at connecting with you. Then maybe I can do it and do other things too.” _

“What friend?” Uncle Owen asked, shaking Luke out of his reverie.

“Oh,” Luke said, and frantically fished for an answer. “Someone you don’t know,” he finally settled on. Again, it was true—though Luke half expected follow-up questions, as the Larses knew most of the settlers and farmers in the area.

“Huh,” was all Uncle Owen said, however, and they finished their lunch in silence.

Leia learning how to throw up a wall changed things too. Luke found her doing it more and more, blocking him off from parts of her mind that he hadn’t even thought to look for. He only knew they existed now because there was a wall to keep him out.

_ “Why do you keep walling me off?” _ he asked her one day as he was cleaning the kitchen after dinner.  _ “What are you trying to hide?” _

_ “I just don’t want you to go snooping,” _ Leia told him.

_ “Do you really think I’ll go snooping?” _ Luke asked, picking up the pot that the night’s dinner had been cooked in.

_ “Well…no. Not really. I just...there are things I don’t want you to know about.” _

_ “Okay,” _ Luke said after a long pause.  _ “But you don’t have to wall them off. I won’t go snooping. I promise.” _

Luke felt what could only be described as a mental shrug.  _ “It’s safer this way,” _ Leia said.  _ “For both of us.” _

_ “Both of us?” _ Luke repeated, finishing scrubbing out the pot.

_ “Yes.” _

_ “How is it safer for me?”  _ Luke asked. He rinsed the pot and set it on the drying rack.

_ “There are things I know—things I’ve seen—that...that could be dangerous. I think. They feel dangerous. And scary. And I don’t want you to have to deal with that.” _

_ “I’m here to help you, remember?”  _ Luke said, wringing out a wash rag and turning to wipe down the stove and counters.

_ “You can’t help me with this. Trust me, it’ll just be better if you don’t know.” _

_ “Okay,” _ Luke said slowly.  _ “If you say so…” _

Even so, they grew closer every day. They talked almost constantly: little sentences of thought and emotion as well as full conversations about water on a desert planet, about mountains, about horses and banthas and thrantas and krayts, about dreams, about the stars, about a thousand more subjects.

He would send her snapshots of his life—images of the vaporators, of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, of the desert sky and its brilliant suns. In the evenings, when the first sun was down and the heat was bearable, Luke would go out to the garage and lay on the roof, sending Leia the feeling of the warmth soaking into his back through their bond. He could feel her sigh and the unspooling of the taut muscles that tried to keep her warm.

It became easier and easier for Luke to slip in and out of Leia’s mind at a second’s thought, until he could slide in on accident when he wasn’t paying attention. As their connection strengthened—the thread of light growing strands that wrapped around the cord, weaving in and out of it until it was a rope of light as strong as steel wire—Luke was able to leave part of his mind in Leia’s, so he could feel her emotions and the faintest impressions of her thoughts, even when he wasn’t actively paying attention to them or to her.

The only times they were truly apart were when one or the other was asleep.

Leia’s hallucinations continued to abate. They would still come at times, however, even when she was talking with Luke. He would feel them in her mind like a large, dark shadow pressing against her thoughts—a massive, sinister being that breathed with a mechanical hiss and whispered in a voice and tongue Luke could not understand. 

He never could tell exactly what it was Leia saw, but when he would feel the hallucination taking shape, Luke would stop and put in her mind an image of whatever it was he was working on, be it vaporators or the landspeeder’s engine or simply his bedroom ceiling. 

_ “Focus on me,” _ Luke would tell her.  _ “Focus on my voice, and on what I’m showing you.” _

And Leia would concentrated on Luke, and on the image he was putting in her mind, and the hallucination would ebb away like sand whispering down a dune.

_ “Thank you,” _ she would always say then, and afterwards would cling all the more tightly to Luke. He could feel it in the desperation with which she spoke to him, and in the sharpness of her thoughts and her emotions.

_ “I’m not gonna leave you,” _ Luke told her one night after they had driven a hallucination away.  _ “You know that, right?” _

_ “I know,” _ Leia said. But Luke could feel the disbelief, the uncertainty, in her. It was smooth and soft and black, spongy like mold and just as rotten.

_ “Why don’t you believe me?” _ he asked, calling her out on her lie.

Leia hesitated so long that Luke wondered if she was going to answer him. But then, finally, Leia said,  _ “There were people who I thought loved me. But they didn’t. They left me to...to the Emperor and the Inquisitors and… Well. They left me. I thought they loved me. But I was wrong.” _

_ “I swear to you, Leia,” _ Luke said.  _ “I love you, and I’m never going to abandon you.” _

It was the first time one of them had said they loved the other—though it was a statement of fact that both had known for months. They had known that they loved each other from the time they had played at the house by the lake, when Leia had taught Luke how to swim and they had stared at the stars and talked about their dreams.

_ “I love you too,” _ Leia replied softly.

Luke smiled.

~oOo~

“I found her.”

Jak stood in the entrance to Lord Vader’s regeneration chamber. A bacta tank took up the center of the wide room, glowing eerie blue and bubbling gently. Counters ringed the walls, covered with hypos and wrenches and a hundred other tools that Jak had no name for, but knew they were for fixing things—fixing humans, fixing machines. Docking ports for droids were in even intervals around the walls, interspersed between the counters. Half of the ports were empty, the droids puttering around the large room; the rest of the ports were full, the droids powered down and silent. A large medical chair stood on the far end of the room, just visible around the curve of the bacta tank.

Jak found it unnerving and disconcerting. All of the medical equipment and the sterility of the air made him uncomfortable, and caused him to wonder just what happened in this room. He wished, in that moment, that he had not been ordered to inform Lord Vader the moment he found Leia—regardless of time or situation.

Darth Vader hung suspended in the bacta. A breathing mask covered his face and he wore a pair of tight-fitting shorts, but the rest of him was bare. Jak was shocked to see that he was covered in thick, rippling scars—scars that could only have been caused by fire and flame. For the first time Jak also saw that both of Vader’s legs were artificial, as were both of his arms. 

_ So the rumors were right, _ Jak thought, fighting nausea.  _ He is as much machine as man... _

The air was thin and dizzying. Jak had heard that the air in Vader’s regeneration chamber was 98% pure oxygen. He had not been sure if he believed that rumor—until now. Until he stood in the room itself and breathed in a heady amount of air that tasted cleaner, purer, more sterile than any air he had ever breathed.

There came a  _ hiss _ , and then the bacta in the tank began to drain, swirling away in a rush of blue and bubbles. Vader’s feet slowly lowered to the floor, until he was standing upright in the last few inches of bacta. Then that too was gone, disappearing through the drain at the center of the tank. The door slid open.

Vader stepped out, pulling the breathing mask from his face.

Jak fought down a shiver and a thrill of fear at the sight of him. He had a strong stomach—you had to, if you were to work in the Imperial Domestic Corps—but even so Jak found himself uneasy at the sight of Vader, fighting down horror and disgust.

Droids squawked and rushed hither and thither, trying to usher Vader toward the medical chair, bringing him a robe, reaching for the joints were metal met flesh.

Vader ignored them all.

“You found her?” he said, taking a step forward. Bacta pooled beneath his feet in thick, blue puddles. His voice was thin and hoarse—a stark contrast to the rich, deep thunder of the voice that issued from behind the black mask he wore.

“Yes, my lord,” Jak said with a bow, averting his eyes. He did not want Vader to think he was staring.

“Where is she?”

“She’s being held in the IB basement,” Jak told Vader. “In what used to be a custodian closet that they transformed into a cell.”

“Well done,” Vader said, and at last allowed the droids near enough to him to drape a robe over his shoulders and survey his joints.

“Thank you, my lord,” Jak said, still averting his eyes but fighting to keep from grinning with pride. It was rare for Vader to offer such praise.

“You may go,” Vader told him.

Jak bowed and left, listening to the door slide shut behind him on the strange and horrifying room.

~oOo~

_ So _ , Vader thought,  _ she’s still in the IB _ .

He sat in the medical chair in his regeneration chamber, waiting impatiently as the droids tended to his mechanical arms and legs and tuned the machinery embedded in his chest. It burned, and his stumps ached as the nerves attached to the artificial limbs were twisted and abused. He knew it was necessary, however, unless he wanted to stop functioning—and so he tolerated the pain and discomfort.

_ What is their purpose in holding her in a custodial closet? _ he wondered.  _ What do they hope to accomplish? _

Though he himself had never been held in permanent isolation, Vader had seen cases of it during the Clone War and after, among the Empire’s prisoners. Many of them went crazy after only a few short months of isolation, turning from logical, rational men and women to raving lunatics. They hallucinated, their sense of time warped, and they became highly anxious and erratic, incapable of cogent thought.

Was that what the Inquisitors wanted to turn her into? A raving, incoherent, unintelligent, mad girl? 

Somehow Vader didn’t think that was what the Inquisitors—or the Emperor—wanted.

The droids finished their ministrations and Vader rose, ready to don his armor once more. It hung at the back of the regeneration chamber, more droids scuttling around it ready and waiting to place it on him. Vader stepped up, extended his arms, and waited.

It descended on him like a black wave, smothering and constricting. Tunic and pants came first, quilted black cloth that was smooth and slick against his scarred skin. Then came the breastplate and pauldrons: two piece of heavy plastisteel that hooked together at his sides and settled over his shoulders, the droids humming as they fed the interlocking teeth together. The gorget came next, encircling his throat and protecting his collarbones. The breathing apparatus control box hooked onto the front of the whole piece, lighting up as it synced up with the interface embedded in his chest, red and green and red again. 

The codpiece came next, hooking around his hips and navel. Then boots, greaves, and leather gloves, followed by his helmet. It was in two pieces: the first half fastened to the gorget, covering his mouth and nose like a bevor; the second hissed as it fastened over his head, sealing to the first part with a gush of clean, cold oxygen. Last was his cape, fastened to his pauldrons with sliding hooks.

He was Darth Vader, in all of his imposition and power, once more.

Turning, Vader strode from his regeneration chamber and through his attached quarters—sitting room, unused bedroom, equally unused dining room, and study—and out into the corridor beyond. He hesitated then, torn between his duty—he was schedule to meet with a committee of Admirals in half an hour, and he liked to get to the meeting room early—and a morbid desire to see Leia Organa again.

_ Who is she to you? _ he asked himself. _ Why should you care to see her again? _

_ Because she has Her eyes, _ a treacherous voice whispered,  _ and you want to see that again. _

Vader ignored that voice.

_ She is the child Palpatine desires to supplant you with, _ another voice said, snide and cruel.  _ That reason alone should be enough to make you not want to see her _ — _Or should be enough to drive you to do so_ , another voice rejoined.  _ You should know your enemy. _

Vader decided the Admirals could wait for him this once. He turned and directed his steps toward the Inquisitorial Building, and toward the girl being kept there in darkness.

“My lord Vader,” an Inquisitor said, startled as Vader appeared in the IB’s doorway. The foyer opened before him, cool and dark and gleaming, and the Inquisitor stood in a doorway leading off it to a spiral staircase, a heavy tome in his hands. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” Vader said, and swept past him toward the lift.

He rode down to the basement in silent thought. Was it worth it, going to visit her? Surely news of his visit would reach Palpatine, just as it had the first time he had done so. Palpatine would likely not be pleased, especially this time, as Leia was being kept in isolation, and Vader was about to break that isolation.

He decided he didn’t care. The desire, morbid and masochistic, was stronger than his fear of Palpatine’s anger.

The door opened onto the long basement hallway, and Vader stepped out into the cool, duracrete corridor. Bright lights shone down on him, and Vader imagined that the air tasted cold and dry and musty.

He came to a custodial closet, the plaque hanging beside it announcing its function. He opened it, only to find a room filled with buckets, mops, brooms, cleaning agents, a wash station, a sink, and all manner of other supplies. He closed the door and moved on.

At the end of the hall stood a second, smaller custodial room. This one had a bolt on the outside, and a sliding grate welded to the bottom of the door. Vader knew he had found the place.

The bolt clanged as Vader shot it back, and the door groaned as he opened it. The wood of it had been reinforced with iron plating on the inside, causing it to hang heavy and grind against the floor.

_ They really don’t want Leia escaping, _ Vader thought.

Light from the hall spilled into the room, illuminating a tray and cup sitting just inside the door, a drain at the center of the floor stained with piss and shit. If he could breathe the free air, Vader suspected that the stench would be nearly overwhelming.

And there, curled into the back corner of the small room, her feet dirty and her pants and thin shirt stained, lay Leia.

He heard her cry out when the door opened and the light flooded in, hiding her eyes from the blinding pain. Her hair was matted and tangled, halfway fallen from the braid it had been woven into. Her face was streaked with sweat and dried tears and old snot, and her lips were cracked with thirst.

Silently, Vader cursed.  _ What are they doing to this girl? _ he wondered.  _ What do they hope to accomplish with this? _

“Look at me,” Vader commanded.

Leia whimpered and did not obey.

“Look at me,” Vader ordered again.

This time Leia lifted her head cautiously, squinting tear-filled eyes against the light. She whimpered again and shut her eyes tightly, spilling the tears down her cheeks.

For just a second, Vader had seen it—had seen  _ Her _ in Leia’s gaze. It sent a thrill of shock and horror and relief through him, so profound it made him dizzy. He had almost convinced himself that it had been a figment of his imagination, the fact that Leia had  _ Her _ eyes.

The Force whispered at him, nudging and pricking him.  _ Listen _ , it said, in the language Vader had known since birth.  _ Listen, listen, listen… _

Vader turned. He had been foolish to come here. What had he expected? Some lightning bolt of understanding or clairvoyance? Understanding? Leia to tell him what he wanted to hear, which was—what? What had he wanted to know?

_ I wanted to know why she has  _ Her _ eyes, _ Vader thought.

“What do you want?”

Leia’s voice halted Vader’s turn. He spun slowly on his heel, until he was looking at Leia once more, now sitting up with her eyes opened in slits. “What?” Vader growled.

“What do you want?” Leia asked again. 

Vader thought about what answer he could give her. He could tell her the truth, or he could lie. The truth was dangerous, and there was a slim chance at best that Leia would understand what he meant, and an even slimmer chance she would be able to answer his question. If he lied however—well, what would he say?

He settled on part of the truth. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why?” Leia asked, sounding almost accusing.

“I wanted to know how you were faring.”

Leia laughed, high and derisive. The sound sent chills down Vader’s spine. Something about the laugh was...familiar. Familiar and terrifying. 

“Since when did you care about me?” Leia asked.

A beat. Then, with more venom spurred by his discomfort than he intended, Vader said, “I don’t.”

Leia laughed again. Tears continued to trickle down her cheeks, but she was smiling a cold, brutal smile. “Of course you don’t.”

This time when Vader turned, Leia didn’t stop him. He swung the door shut, slammed the bolt home, and strode away.

He shouldn’t have come, Vader decided as he stepped into the lift. It was stupid, and pointless for him to have done so. And what did it accomplish? Nothing. It had accomplished nothing. He had wasted his time, and broke an unspoken rule to get nothing.

He slammed a fist against the button, closing the doors and sending the lift upwards. Anger—at Leia, at himself—crackled through him, sparking down his bones and burning in his blood. The pull of the Dark Side strengthened, mounting inch by inch, ounce by ounce until Vader yearned for the feel of the Force breaking bone.

_ Never again, _ Vader thought.  _ I will never seek her out again. _

Deep down, though, he knew he was lying to himself. He was drawn to her, in mind and soul, like a moth to flame; even now there was a part of him that yearned to return, to hear her voice again and see her eyes. There was something captivating about her, something enchanting—something that drew him, irresistibly and irrevocably.

He would see her again. Just not yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to last chapter was significantly lower than usual, I noticed. Was that jut because of when I posted it? Or is it because of waning interest in the story? (I hope it's the former, rather than the latter...)
> 
> To try to encourage you all to leave me some feedback, I'll make you all a deal: if I get 10 reviews by Sunday, I'll post the next chapter then. If not, but I get 15 reviews by Tuesday, I'll post then. Otherwise I'll post next Friday or Saturday. Sound fair?
> 
> So if you want the next chapter asap, review away!


	17. Part 2: Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got 10 reviews by today so, as promised, here is the next chapter!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter. You really made my weekend <3 I hope you'll consider reviewing this chapter as well!

CHAPTER 4

Leia wiped her streaming eyes with the backs of her hands and settled back down to the floor, curling onto her side and burying her face in her arms. Her eyes and head hurt—she had barely been able to open her eyes enough to even make out Vader’s blurred shadow—and whenever she blinked she saw bright lights explode behind her eyelids.

Why had Vader come, Leia wondered. She suspected there was more to it than what he said—that it was more than just him wondering how she was doing.

Unless—unless he knew that she was his daughter.

But he had never cared about her before—why would he start now? He had left her to the wolves, visiting only that one time over a year ago. Even then he had barely stayed more than a few minutes before whirling and disappearing, and had done nothing about the Inquisitors hurting her.

Unless—and the thought came to Leia gently, like mist beading on glass—he had only just come to find out that she was his daughter. But if that was the case, she reasoned, why did he simply turn and leave again? Why did he leave her here, in this cell, where she had to piss on the floor and her only company was a boy in her mind? Why didn’t he take her with him?

 _The Emperor is his master_ , a reasonable voice whispered. She remembered her father saying that, one night over dinner when galactic politics had been brought up. Leia hadn’t understood much of that dinner conversation, but she had piped up long enough to ask what that meant.

“It means the Emperor owns and controls him,” her father had said.

Leia had frowned. “But you can’t own people,” she had said.

“You can,” her mother had said gently. “It’s called slavery, and it was outlawed under the Republic. Now, however, it’s fairly common practice.”

Leia had pulled a face at that. “It doesn’t seem right,” she had said.

“It’s not,” her father had said. “That’s why it’s not allowed here on Alderaan.”

“Okay,” Leia had said. Then she had added, “Good. I don’t think anyone should own anyone else.”

But whether it was right or wrong did not change the fact that, as her father had said, the Emperor was Darth Vader’s master. That meant that Vader had to do what the Emperor wanted. And the Emperor wouldn’t want Vader to take her away.

But he was her _father_. The man who had sired her, in any case. Shouldn’t that mean more to him than what his master said?

Miserable, Leia curled into a tighter ball and squeezed her still-watering eyes shut.

Didn’t anyone care about her? Didn’t anyone love her?

She felt Luke’s thoughts slide into hers, warm and bright and blue. _“Hey,”_ he said, and Leia could feel his smile in the edges of the thought-word. _“Miss me?”_

 _“Yes,”_ Leia said, and with the word came a rush of relief and hope.

Luke cared about her. Luke _loved_ her. He had not only said so, but had shown her that he did time and time again—showed her every time he came back to her, every time he made her smile, every time he made her laugh.

 _“What’s wrong?”_ Luke asked. _“I can feel you’re tense and anxious.”_

 _“Nothing,”_ Leia lied.

 _“No,”_ Luke said, _“it’s something. I can feel your thoughts, remember? I can tell it’s something—and I can tell you’re lying.”_

For the first time, Leia was irritated that Luke could read her thoughts.

 _“I don’t want to talk about it,”_ Leia said at last, throwing up walls around the memory of the Emperor telling her who her father was. She also went to put a wall up around the memory of Vader coming to see her—but she was too slow.

 _“Who was that?”_ Luke asked, poking at the image of blinding light and a smudge of shadow standing in the doorway.

 _“No one,”_ Leia snapped. _“I thought you said you wouldn’t snoop.”_

 _“I wasn’t,”_ Luke protested. _“You thought about it, and I saw it.”_

Leia groaned, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. _“Have you heard of Darth Vader?”_ she asked.

 _“No,”_ Luke said. _“What’s that?”_

 _“Who,”_ Leia said. _“Who is that. And he’s one of the most important people in the Empire.”_

 _“He is?”_ Luke asked. _“I wonder how I haven’t heard of him before.”_

Leia shrugged mentally. _“I don’t know. But he’s the Emperor’s right hand.”_

That was something else her father had said. “He exacts the Emperor’s will with a hard hand and a harder heart. Nothing is too foul for Darth Vader to do.”

Leia told Luke his now. _“He’s awful,”_ Leia added.

_“Why did he come to see you?”_

_“I don’t know,”_ Leia said, and it wasn’t a lie. She didn’t know for sure why he had come—she just had suspicions. Suspicions she had no way of proving or disproving.

 _“Okay,”_ Luke said. He was silent for a moment, before changing the subject.

Leia continued to search her mind, in the dark and silent moments when Luke was not with her, for the thread of light he had described to her. He had told her how it had grown, how it had woven together into a cord of light and the essence of _her_ , how it connected them and their minds. Leia wondered if it was, in fact, his Force Sensitivity—or if it was something else.

 _What if it’s something unique to us?_ she wondered. _When I feel the Force, it’s like fire, and like it’s a part of me. Luke describes the cord as just being us._

And so she continued to search for it, combing through her mind and her thoughts for the cord of light.

Then, one day, as Leia was laying at the back of her cell, Luke only half in her mind as he concentrated on listening to his uncle teach him about circuitry, she heard the bolt on the door to her cell slide back. Then the door opened with a burst of light that sent her cowering and covering her eyes.

There was a shuffle of movement in the doorway—then, without warning, there came a spray of cold water. It splashed over Leia’s body, soaking her instantly, and then flowed from her to the floor of her cell.

Laughter, and then mockery about the filth collecting at the grate. Leia covered her face and tried not to cry—she hated having to go to the bathroom on the floor of her cell, and had quickly learned to do so over the grate at the center of it—and so to hear unknown voices mocking her for it made her want to weep, in anger and frustration and embarrassment.

Footsteps, and then the water splashed over her again. It was cold, and stung her skin.

Anger and fear swelled in Leia’s chest, black and hot and desperate. She wanted them to stop, to suffer, to pay for what they were doing to her. They were cruel and mean, and were laughing at her discomfort. They deserved to know what it felt like.

The Force rose in response—and Leia, unaccustomed now to quelling it, scrabbled at it with nails and teeth, frantically throwing durasteel bands over it. The shields buckled and bulged, allowing streams of the Force, burning and bright, into her blood. It would be so easy to reach out and grab the hose from her tormentors’ hands, to turn it on them. It would be so easy to push them with a fist of power, to send them tumbling to the filthy ground.

 _No_ , Leia thought, grabbing onto the Force and wrestling it back behind her shields.

_“Leia?”_

Leia froze.

_“Leia, what’s going on?”_

_“Not now,”_ Leia barely managed to say, fighting the rising tide of the Force.

It sang to her, begged her to use it. Leia fought the allure, ordered it to obey her command—her command to be still and silent, to go back behind her walls and not come out. She grabbed fistfuls of the power and ripped it from her blood, throwing it back into her chest and the shields she had built there.

And that was when she felt it—a bright, shining cord embedded in the heart of the Force, brilliant and gold, woven together with her thoughts and Luke’s. It was her and it was him—it was both of them together, entwined inextricably.

Her shields faltered just for an instant, her attention wavering, and the Force exploded out of her. The water seemed to hit an invisible wall—and then sprayed back toward the men standing above her. They yelped and jerked back, the nozzle of the hose turning away from Leia.

“Stupid bitch,” one of them cursed, and then the sound of the water splashing against duracrete vanished. “Come on, let’s go.”

Their footsteps retreated, and Leia was left alone once more as the door swung shut behind them.

Only she was not alone.

 _“Leia, what just happened?”_ Luke’s thoughts were more forceful than they had been before, diamond to flint.

 _“Nothing,”_ Leia said.

 _“Bantha shit,”_ Luke said. _“I_ felt _that. That was...was…”_ Leia felt him flounder, searching for words to describe what he had felt.

 _“That was the Force,”_ Leia admitted softly _._

 _“The Force?”_ Luke asked.

 _“Yeah,”_ Leia said. _“It...I don’t really know how to describe it. Or how to explain it. But that’s what it was.”_

 _“Okay,”_ Luke said slowly. _“It felt...I don’t know. Dangerous.”_

 _“It is,”_ Leia said, and ended the conversation.

It took time to extricate the cord from the rest of the Force—time and patience. Leia would loosen the bands of iron that covered the Force buried deep within her, and would sink slowly into it, searching for it. She would drift through the ether of bright, brilliant light and fire, searching for the sense of _Luke_ that was intrinsic to the cord.

The more she did it, the easier it became to find it. Once she had found it, she would grab a hold of it and drag it slowly, slowly toward the surface. It came grudgingly at first, happily rooted deep within the Force. But the more she worked at it, and the longer she pulled at it, the faster it came, drifting farther and farther out of the heart of the Force, rising toward the surface—until at last, at last, it existed just beneath the shields.

But Leia wanted it on the other side of the shields—wanted this alone to be as easily accessible as a glance and a thought. And so she parted her shields and drew the cord away from the rest of the Force like poison from a wound, pulling it strand by strand and inch by inch past the edges of durasteel.

 _“Have you done something?”_ Luke asked her the afternoon after she had finished, when he slid back into her thoughts. _“I can feel you stronger now, somehow. And it’s even easier to reach you than it was before.”_

Leia sent him a picture of the Force—showed him how she saw it within her—burning behind her shields with the light rain falling on it. Then she showed him the golden, glowing cord that connected them shining in front of those shields, sparking and hissing beneath the rain.

 _“I found it,”_ she said. _“And I got it out from behind my shields. I can touch it now.”_

 _“Can you go into my mind?”_ Luke asked.

Leia tried. She tried—and failed. She could touch the cord, could prod it, could circle it. But she could not sink down into it. No matter what she tried—and she tried a hundred different ways, tried a hundred different methods—she could do nothing more than touch it.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Leia told Luke.

 _“It’s okay,”_ Luke said. _“I’ll just keep having to come to you.”_

~oOo~

Six months after Luke and Leia’s bond had been restored, Old Ben visited the farm.

Luke was home working in the greenhouse with his aunt, preparing the soil for spring planting, when the bell rang at the door. His aunt stood, dusting off her hands, and went to answer it, Luke trailing after her with soil still streaked on his pale hands.

“Ben,” Luke heard his aunt say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m only here for a moment, Beru,” Old Ben said. “I just wanted to make certain that Luke was doing well.”

“He is,” Aunt Beru said.

“May I see him?” Old Ben asked.

Aunt Beru hesitated, but then stood away from the door. “Come on in.”

Luke quickly pulled away from Leia’s mind, for the first time in months leaving completely. He did not want Old Ben to somehow sense that the connection he had sought to sever had grown back, stronger than ever.

Old Ben came down the stairs and into the courtyard, to see Luke standing there waiting for him. He smiled, his bright blue eyes dancing with light, and he commented, “My, Luke. You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

Luke drew himself up, proud, and then led the way into the house at his aunt’s insistence. He took Old Ben into the living room, and waited for Old Ben to sit down on the sofa before seating himself on the other end of it.

“Surely you can see for yourself he’s doing well,” Aunt Beru said, coming in a moment later with a glass of water for their guest.

“Thank you,” Old Ben said, acccepting the glass of water and taking a sip. When he put it down, he said, “Yes, I can see that Luke seems to be doing well. But I would like to check on his connection before I be certain of that.”

Aunt Beru nodded. “Do what you must,” she said.

Old Ben set his glass on the small table at the end of the sofa, then turned to look at Luke. “Will you sit next to me?” he asked.

Luke scooted closer. Old Ben reached out with both hands, placing cool fingers on Luke’s temples and cheekbones. Old Ben closed his eyes then and took a deep, centering breath. As he let it out, Luke felt his own eyes close, sealing him in darkness.

It seemed to Luke that he looked down upon himself. He could see his body sitting on the couch, could see Old Ben sitting beside him, holding his face. He could see his aunt sitting in the armchair in the corner, and the glass of water on the end table.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible tether, Luke felt himself drawn toward his own body. He squinted his eyes shut, preparing for a shock of impact—only to feel nothing. Opening his eyes, Luke found himself standing in the darkness of his own mind, feet planted on nothing, a void all around.

As he watched, however, light flared overhead, though when he looked up Luke could find no source for it. The light was pale and thin, and fell in crystal rays toward Luke’s feet, which when Luke looked down he saw stood on glass above emptiness.

Luke looked forward—and with a jolt, he saw his own thoughts.

They were a twisted into the corners and dead ends of a labyrinth, the walls formed of smoke and mirrors, of locked doors and steel windows. The walls rose high into the air and stretched on, on, on toward infinity—only, he realized as he looked closer at them, it wasn’t infinity, but that they looped back upon themselves.

Looking at it made his head hurt.

He started into the maze, marvelling at the shape and form of it all, as if it was not his own mind he was venturing into. Within seconds he was lost, the entrance vanishing behind him as surely as mist in sunlight.

Each time he turned a corner, Luke expected to find himself face-to-face with a thought, a memory, or an emotion. He had glimpsed them hidden in the labyrinth from the outside. Yet, no matter how many corners he turned, how many doors he forced his way through, how many windows he climbed into, he never seemed to be able to capture one. They remained firmly elusive, always just beyond his grasp, believing every moment that he was only one turn away from reaching one.

“Well.”

Luke blinked, startled by the sound, and found himself sitting in his living room once more, Old Ben sitting beside him on the sofa.

“Well?” his aunt repeated.

“That is not what I expected,” Old Ben said. He looked at Luke with a frown. “Has anyone been teaching you how to shield your thoughts?”

“Shield my thoughts?” Luke echoed. He shook his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Why do you ask?” Aunt Beru asked.

“Because I was unable to search his mind,” Old Ben said. “It was like a labyrinth, only… Never mind. I doubt either of you want a lecture on the Force.”

Luke frowned. He remembered Leia speaking of the Force, but he had never really understood what it was. He had seen it in Leia—had seen how she saw it in herself—but it remained a power he did not understand and could not comprehend.

“Suffice it to say,” Old Ben said, interrupting Luke’s thoughts, “Luke’s mind is very well protected. I sensed nothing of the sort the last time I searched his mind, which leads me to believe that he learned it from somewhere—or from someone—since then, but—” He cut himself off, and smiled at Aunt Beru. “I sensed no trace of the connection that so concerned me last time,” he said. “So rest at ease, the both of you.”

Luke forced himself to smile as if he was relieved—as if he wasn’t hiding the fact that he and Leia had reconnected months ago, and had been talking daily since then. Old Ben glanced at him, then nodded as if to himself.

“I will take my leave of you and your hospitality,” he said, rising. He bowed to Aunt Beru, and smiled at her.

“Thank you,” Aunt Beru said at the door, so softly Luke almost didn’t hear her.

“If you notice anything odd, please do not hesitate to contact me,” Old Ben said. “The comlink number I gave you will still work.”

“Thank you,” Aunt Beru said again. And then, with that, Old Ben was gone.

~oOo~

Dr. Amareus Ammit was livid.

He slammed his way into Palpatine’s office, ignoring the secretary’s loud protestations. The Emperor and the two Admirals he was meeting with turned to look at him, the Admirals wearing expressions of shock, the Emperor simply staring at him with a vaguely surprised look.

“Get out,” Amareus snapped to the two Admirals, stepping aside and gesturing to the door. When they hesitated and glanced at the Emperor for instruction, Amareus all but shouted, “Get out!”

The Emperor nodded, and the two Admirals rose and scurried out of the office, closing the door behind them.

“Tell me, Amareus,” the Emperor said calmly, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes and leaning back in his chair, “what has gotten you so riled up that you forewent the politeness you hold so dear?”

“Do you want Leia Organa to go raving mad?” Amareus demanded, crossing to the Emperor’s desk and leaning forward over it, planting his hands on the desktop.

“Of what do you speak?” the Emperor asked.

“I just found out why she hasn’t been to see me for six months,” Amareus said, “and it’s because she’s been locked in a dark room this whole time. That drives people _insane_. Surely you didn’t sign off on this?”

“On the contrary,” the Emperor said, “I was the one to suggest it.”

Amareus bit his tongue, only just barely managing to keep from snarling, “Are you serious?”

Instead he said, the word coming out bitten and over-formed, “Why?”

“I need not explain my reasons to you,” the Emperor said icily.

Amareus ground his teeth together. “She’s going to go _insane_.”

“A little bit of insanity could be good for her,” the Emperor said. He smiled. “And for me.”

Again Amareus bit his tongue, this time to keep from saying, “ _You’re_ the one who’s insane.”

He took a deep breath and forced his emotions down. He had to get a hold of himself or he was going to do something stupid.

“Don’t tell me, Amareus,” the Emperor said. “You haven’t grown _fond_ of her, have you?”

Amareus straightened, allowing his hands to fall in fists by his sides. “Not fond, no,” he said. “I have a vested interest in her growth, however. I don’t want to see her ruined or destroyed before she can be used.”

The Emperor laughed. “This will not destroy her,” he said. “Quite the contrary, in fact. I believe it will ripen her into the perfect pupil.”

Amareus bowed stiffly. “As you say, Your Grace.”

~oOo~

In the time Leia spent in the dark, empty room, Leia dreamed of Shmi once.

“I’m proud of you,” she said, appearing before Leia amid the dunes, the spiral arm of the galaxy shedding pale light across the sand. She gathered Leia into a hug, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Why?” Leia asked, confused.

“Because you continue to fight.”

“It’s only because of Luke,” Leia said. “Without him I think I would have gone crazy.”

Shmi smiled. Leia could feel it in her chest, pressed against Leia’s cheek. “Yes, Luke,” she sighed. “Trust him,” she said. “He will shape the galaxy with his love.”

Leia pulled away. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“You will see,” Shmi said.

Leia huffed with frustration. “Can’t you tell me any more than that?”

“No,” Shmi said calmly.

Leia frowned. “Can I at least tell him about you?” Leia asked.

“Trust him,” Shmi said again, and with that began to fade away.

When Leia woke, it was to find Luke already in her mind.

 _“Were you dreaming?”_ he asked.

 _“Yes,”_ Leia said. _“Why?”_

 _“It felt...strange,”_ Luke said.

_“Strange how?”_

_“Like it feels when I touch your mind—only not, because it wasn’t me. It was someone else.”_

Leia smiled. Shmi had told her to trust Luke—and that meant it was safe to tell him about her, right? If she hadn’t wanted Leia to tell him about her, she would have said as much. Right?

Leia made up her mind.

 _“It was Shmi,”_ she said.

 _“Shmi?”_ Luke said, shocked. _“That’s the name of my grandmother.”_

 _“I know,”_ Leia said. _“I don’t know if it’s her, but she says her name is Shmi. I’ve been dreaming about her since I was taken. She’s the reason I haven’t Fallen.”_

 _“Fallen?”_ Luke asked.

 _“Fallen to the Dark Side,”_ Leia said. _“Shmi said I would bring darkness to the galaxy if I Fell. So I can’t Fall.”_

 _“What’s the Dark Side?”_  Luke asked.

 _“Evil,”_ Leia said.

 _“Okay,”_ Luke said. _“I’m not sure I really understand—but if you can’t Fall, whatever that means, then I’ll do what I can to help.”_

Leia wished she could hug him. _“Thanks,”_ she said. _“I think...I think I may need your help.”_

_“Well I’ll be here. I promise.”_

~oOo~

The time passed quickly for Luke. His aunt and uncle, realizing he was falling behind in his education, took back up his tutoring. They taught him together, his uncle teaching him math and science, his aunt teaching him about the desert and its history, and about language—both Basic and Huttese.

His aunt and uncle still needed his help around the farm, however, leaving his days even more full. He collapsed into bed every night exhausted, falling asleep almost instantly and sleeping until his chrono went off at 0500.

He felt bad for abandoning Leia like that, but she assured him it was fine. _“We have all day now,”_ she told him when he expressed his disappointment in himself.

 _“Only part of the day,”_ he corrected her. _“I still can’t talk and pay attention while Aunt Beru or Uncle Owen are teaching, or when I really have to focus on a vaporator.”_

 _“That’s okay,”_ Leia reassured him. _“It’s enough.”_

Still though, Luke worked hard on learning how to both do his work and talk to Leia at the same time. He practiced sinking only part way into Leia’s mind, testing the limits of how deep he had to go to speak with her, how deep to feel her emotions, how deep to sense her thoughts. And slowly, slowly, as he grew more accustomed to her mind and her thoughts, to their rhythm and their rhyme, to the avenue that linked them, Luke grew more and more adept at navigating the bond.

Leia, for her part, came to understand the cord that bound them as well, but in a superficial and theoretical manner. She poked and prodded it, felt the telltale burn of the Force when she would draw too near. She suspected that the link was one born of the Force, and that it was the Force that linked them.

She told Luke as much, and told him of her other findings: that the cord was one intricate whole, rather than an amalgamation of disparate parts; that it was as strong as the durasteel that she used to suppress the Force; that it refused to be separated from her, or from him, but that it clung to them as if it had been sewn into the fabric of their very souls.

As the months since reconnecting with Leia marched on, Luke grew more and more confident in their bond. He sent Leia snippets of thought and sight and feeling—the warmth of the wind, the taste of his aunt’s cooking, the echoing sound of the krayts calling in the night—and in return he gleaned her emotions and dreams and memories, as well as her thoughts and sensations.

 _“How long has it been?”_ Leia asked Luke one day. He was working on a biology paper for his uncle, sending Leia snippets of it as he wrote for her judgment. Leia found it fascinating, and kept asking him questions which, though it slowed Luke’s writing, thrilled him to no end. He liked being able to tell her things.

 _“How long since what?”_ Luke asked.

_“Since we started talking. Since our bond was reconnected.”_

Luke counted. _“I was ten and a half,”_ he mused, _“and I’m almost eleven and a half now. So it’s been...nine months? Why?”_

 _“I was just wondering how long I’ve been in here,”_ Leia said, and Luke felt a wave of despondency tinged with fear rise in her. He sunk deeper into her mind, channeling soothing thoughts toward her.

 _“It’s okay,”_ Luke promised. _“I’m not leaving you.”_

He felt Leia sniffle and wipe her nose on the back of her hand. _“Sometimes I still see things,”_ Leia admitted softly. _“It happens when you’re not here.”_

 _“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”_ Luke asked, worried.

_“Because I didn’t want you to worry. And you already take such good care of me.”_

_“But maybe I can do more,”_ Luke said. _“I...I’ll talk to you more. I won’t leave you alone at all.”_

Leia laughed weakly at that. _“You can’t always be here,”_ she told him practically. _“I’ll be okay. Really. I’ve managed it for this long.”_

Luke sat back in his desk chair and ran his fingers through his sand-blown hair. _“You shouldn’t have to, though,”_ he said.

 _“It’s not your job to keep me sane,”_ Leia said.

 _“But I want it to be,”_ Luke said.

He felt Leia shake her head, the movement sending her hair scattering across her face. She was laying on the hard ground on one side, her head resting on her crossed arms. _“But it shouldn’t be.”_

 _“It’s my choice,”_ Luke said stubbornly. _“And I choose you.”_

Leia was silent for a long moment. Then, softly, she said, _“Okay.”_

After that Luke spent more and more time in Leia’s mind, talking to her and sharing with her moments of his own life. At the end of the month his aunt and uncle commented about how distracted he seemed to have been—to which Luke simply replied that he was thinking about his plans for the future.

“And just what are those?” his aunt asked, ladling a bowl full of soup for him.

“I don’t want to be a farmer,” Luke said, grateful he already had an answer for her. “I want to be a pilot.”

“And how do you think you’ll go about becoming that?” Uncle Owen asked.

Luke shrugged. “Maybe I’ll sign on with a crew out of Mos Eisley. Or maybe I’ll go for the Imperial Academy. Either way, I’ll get off Tatooine.”

“Life isn’t so bad here,” Aunt Beru said. “Is it?”

Luke shook his head. “I just want to see the stars.”

“Well,” his aunt said, “you still have a while before you’re going anywhere.”

Luke frowned, but nodded. “I know,” he said grudgingly.

He went to bed that night talking to Leia about his plans. _“And maybe you can come with me,”_ he said hopefully.

 _“I doubt it,”_ Leia said. She sounded woeful.

 _“Why?”_ Luke asked.

 _“Because I…”_ She trailed off.

 _“Because why?”_ Luke pressed.

 _“I don’t know that I’m ever getting out of this dark room,”_ Leia said at last. _“And even if I do, I doubt I’ll be free.”_

 _“Free from what?”_ Luke asked.

An image formed in Leia’s mind of the yellow-eyed monsters Luke had once dreamed of. Two humans stood to either side of them, cold-eyed and cold-faced. Luke shuddered.

 _“Of them,”_ Leia said.

 _“Oh.”_ Luke thought a moment, then said, _“Well maybe you can escape.”_

 _“Maybe,”_ Leia said, but Luke could tell that she was only saying that to agree with him.

Luke climbed into bed.

 _“Why don’t you think you can escape?”_ Luke asked.

 _“You don’t know what they’re like,”_ Leia said. _“How could you?”_

 _“I used to dream about them,”_ Luke said. _“So I think I have some idea.”_

 _“No, you don’t,”_ Leia said. _“Not if you think I can just run away from them.”_

 _“It’s not that I think it would be_ easy _,”_ Luke said. _“But maybe—”_

 _“There’s no ‘maybe’,”_ Leia said. _“It won’t happen.”_

 _“Okay,”_ Luke said, stung. _“Fine. I was just trying to help.”_

Leia was silent for a moment. When she did speak, she simply said, _“Good night,”_ surprising Luke. She rarely said good night. Instead, they usually talked until Luke fell asleep.

 _“Good night,”_ Luke said, trying to hide the hurt he felt at her dismissal.

He fell asleep wondering what he had done to upset her.

~oOo~

Leia woke to the sound of the bolt being shot back and then the creak and groan of the door. She turned over so that her back was to the door and pressed her hands into her eyes, preparing for the spray of light and cold water that was sure to follow. She wished Luke was there to keep her company through the uncomfortable ordeal—but he wasn’t there.

The light came, but the water did not. Instead, Leia heard Ninth Brother’s voice say, “Well, go on.”

Then came footsteps, which she felt as much as heard, and then hands reaching down and grabbing her by the arm. She yelped as she was dragged to her feet, her hand pulled away from her right eye, and then another pair of hands fastened around her left arm.

She thrashed, but their hands were iron around her arms and she could not see. All she could do was kick at the filthy floor as she was dragged out of her cell and into the hall.

A smooth, cool hand that Leia was certain belonged to Ninth Brother touched her cheek, turning her face upwards. Leia kept her eyes shut tight against the light.

“What a pity,” Ninth Brother said softly. “You could have been so great. And now look at you—covered in your own filth, unable to even see.”

Leia jerked away from his touch, and she heard Ninth Brother drop his hand to his side.

“Well, come on,” he said, and the next thing Leia knew she was being dragged down the hall.

She felt them ride up a lift, felt slick marble under her feet, and heard doors open and close behind them. The light grew brighter on the other side of her eyelids, and Leia’s eyes began to water. She longed to wipe the tears away, but she couldn’t move her arms—could only be dragged as much as guided across stone and up a flight of stairs. Then another set of doors, and more smooth marble underfoot.

There was another lift, and another hall. The light was dimmer, and Leia risked cracking her eyes open. Everything was blurry and painful, and Leia closed her eyes again.

Eventually they came to a halt on the other side of a pair of doors, and Leia heard Ninth Brother’s voice again. “Well?” he said. “You know what to do.”

The hands released her, and Leia stumbled and nearly fell, her legs buckling beneath her. She fell to the floor, trembling, and turned toward the invisible hands. She opened her mouth to say something—to demand to know where she was, what they wanted, why she was here—but shut it again when she heard a clatter. She cracked her eyes open again—only to see blurred shapes and to have her eyes water all the more.

“Get those clothes off her,” an unknown voice growled.

Leia scrambled back, scooting along the tiled floor, lifting a warding hand. “Wait,” she said, finally finding her voice, though only with difficulty. The word felt strange on her tongue, and her voice came out thin and strained, unused.

But they ignored her. Hands grabbed her wrists, lifting her upright, and then Leia felt fingers wrap in the back of her shirt and tug. The thin, grimy cloth ripped, and Leia felt a wash of cold air across her back. She jerked against the hands on her wrists—only for them to tighten their grip painfully.

More cloth tore, and more, until Leia was naked and unable to see in the cold air. The hands disappeared from her wrists, and then Leia heard feet retreat. She stayed upright, barely, legs trembling. Another clatter—and then, very suddenly, there came a spray of cold water.

Leia yelped and skittered back, only to fall back to the floor, but the water followed her. It followed her until she hit the back wall, tile-covered and cool. She cowered, covering her head with her hands and hunching between her knees.

“Get up, 851,” Ninth Brother ordered.

Leia ignored him.

“I said get up.” Ninth Brother’s voice was a warning.

Still Leia did not get up.

Footsteps, and then a hand tangled in her hair and dragged her body upright. Leia cried out and reached for the hand, nails scratching at skin. Ninth Brother grunted, but he did not release her. Instead he shoved her forward, and then said, “Continue.”

The cold water splashed over Leia’s unprotected chest and stomach, trickling down her legs to pool beneath her feet. After a moment Ninth Brother twisted, turning her so that her back was to the water.

It stopped for a moment, and Leia hoped it was over. She was cold and shaking, both from fear and from the water, and just wanted to go back to her comfortable, dark cell.

More footsteps, and then Ninth Brother released her hair. Leia slumped in relief, collapsing back to the floor—only for a cloth to be pressed into her hand.

“Wash yourself,” Ninth Brother ordered, “or we will wash you.”

Fumbling, afraid and embarrassed and cold, still unable to see and barely able to stand, Leia scrubbed her body with the soap-lathered washcloth. When she was done with her face, a hand appeared to take the cloth away from her, and then the water returned. This time, at least, was shorter—just long enough to wash the soap from her skin.

“What do we do with her hair?” one of the other men attending to her said. It was the first time Leia had heard one of them speak.

Ninth Brother touched her matted, tangled hair, picking it up off of her back and examining it. Leia remained stock still but for the trembling with the cold and barely restrained fear, waiting for a pronouncement of doom.

“It’s unsalvageable,” Ninth Brother said, dropping Leia’s dripping hair. “Shave it.”

A sick, desperate feeling swooped through Leia’s stomach. “No,” she cried, turning toward where she had heard Ninth Brother’s voice. Desperation fueled her voice, giving her the words that seemed to stick in her throat and on her tongue. “Please, don’t cut it. Please, don’t—”

Hair on Alderaan was close to sacred. Most women wore it long, so that they could braid and style it in ceremonial and traditional ways—ways that meant something different depending on where the braid was pinned, how many strands were used, how the braids were piled on the head. It was also a matter of modesty: you only let your hair down among family—with your parents, siblings, and, eventually, your husband and children.

Ninth Brother ignored her.

They dragged her to another room attached to the first and shoved her into a chair. There was a clatter of drawers being opened and closed, then came the hum of a razor.

“ _Please_ ,” Leia begged, close to tears.

The razor touched her head, and the tears spilled over.

“Please,” Leia said one last time, half a whisper.

In desperation, fear and humiliation and despair, Leia sank deep within herself and found the shining cord of connection that linked her and Luke. _“Luke,”_ she begged, pressing her thoughts against the cord. _“Luke please, I need you.”_

Luke did not answer.

It was over in less than a minute, though it felt infinitely longer to Leia. At last, however, it was done, her hair gone but for a dark fuzz covering her head. Leia sat on the chair and cried—and not for the light still burning her eyes.

“Here,” a new voice said. Leia guessed it belonged to the second unknown man who had been guiding her. He pressed something made of cloth into her lap, then said, “Get dressed.”

It took Leia far longer than usual to dress in the simple cotton pants and shirt. Still blind, she had to fumble her way through the motions, nearly falling while stepping into the second pants leg. That her head felt light, no longer weighed down by her hair, did not help.

Once she was dressed, they half-dragged, half-carried her out of the room and down a long hall, then a second, a third, a fourth. Then Leia heard a door open, and she was ushered into a room.

“Sit,” Ninth Brother ordered, and Leia was set down on the soft mattress of a bed.

The footsteps of the men escorting her receded, and then Leia heard the door close, leaving her alone with her horror, desperation, and sorrow.

It was silly, Leia told herself, to mourn for her hair. It wasn’t alive, it couldn’t feel pain, it was just a dead part of her. But still, all the same, when she lifted a hand to touch her shaved head, the tears that had abated flowed freely once again, spilling over her cheeks and running down to drip from her chin.

 _Why?_ Leia asked herself. _Why did they do it?_

She knew, logically, that it was because her hair had been filthy, matted, and tangled. But they hadn’t even _tried_ to wash or detangle it. They had simply decided to shave it all off—and that hurt. It hurt like a thorn lodged deep within her chest.

They hadn’t even cared enough about her to try to salvage her hair, when all it would have needed was a wash and a brush. This just showed that she was nothing to them—just as she had been nothing to Carlist, to Mon, who had cast her away at the first opportunity.

She was nothing. No one.

 _“Luke?”_ she called again, sitting on the bed and pressing her thoughts against their shining connection. _“Luke, please… Where are you?”_

Luke didn’t answer.

Her eyesight eventually returned. Slowly, slowly, objects began to emerge from the blurry haze, turning from smudges of shadow to distinct lines and shapes. The light hurt less and less, until Leia could crack her eyes open without tears clouding her vision.

She found herself in a small, bare room, the only furnishings the bed and a small table beside it. There was a tray of food and a cup of water waiting for her on the table,and Leia hungrily wolfed them down. It had been ages, it seemed, since she had eaten or drunk.

She had finally opened her eyes all the way, her vision fully returned, when the door to the small room she was in opened. Ninth Brother and two red-clad guards appeared in the doorway, then filed into the room. Ninth Brother, leading the way, softly ordered, “Get up, 851.”

Leia crossed her arms and did not get up.

Ninth Brother sighed, then turned to the red-clad guard and nodded. They skirted past him, coming to the bed on which Leia sat, and seized her by the arms. They dragged her to her feet, holding her between them, then followed Ninth Brother out of the door and down the hall.

Leia lost track of their route after the sixth turn and second lift ride. The halls stretched on and on, carven wood and gleaming marble, some low-ceilinged and some with vaulted domes. Paintings and frescoes and tapestries hung on the walls, adding color to the otherwise natural tones.

At last, however, they came to a halt in front of the throne room’s great double doors.

“Here is where I leave you,” Ninth Brother said, turning to Leia and looking down at her. “I hope you will choose wisely.” Then, with that ominous statement hanging in the air before Leia, he turned stepped away, leaving the way to the throne room clear.

The red-clad guards stepped forward and opened the doors. They swung inward, noiseless, to reveal the obsidian throne room beyond. Then, seizing Leia by the arms, they marched her in.

 _“Luke?”_ Leia said one final time, desperately. _“Luke, I’m scared. Please…”_

The Emperor sat on his throne, cowl thrown back to reveal his wrinkled and scarred face. Darth Vader stood on the first step of the dais, black and hulking and dangerous, mechanical breathing filling the air.

The red-clad guards escorted Leia down the long room toward the dais, stopping half a dozen paces from Vader and the first step. There they halted, and shoved Leia onto her knees.

“Leave us,” the Emperor said in his thin, scratching voice.

The red-clad guards bowed and retreated.

“So, young Leia,” the Emperor said, leaning forward on his throne, “you come before me once more. Tell me, how do you feel?”

Leia scowled. “I’m fine,” she said, fighting to keep the tremble of fear out of her voice. She did not like the Emperor, or this room, or Vader standing half a dozen steps from her. It felt oppressive and dead, like a carcass left to rot in the sun.

The Emperor nodded. “I see,” he said. “Tell me, young Leia,” he said, “are you happy to be free from your cage?”

Leia’s scowl deepened. “I’d like to go back,” she said.

“Hm,” the Emperor hummed. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“You don’t know what’s true,” Leia snapped.

The Emperor laughed. “Such fire,” he said, “even now. But yes, child, I _can_ tell what’s true and what’s lie. Just as you can.”

A chill raced through Leia. So he could sense lies as well, just as she could? That meant he had the Force, just as she did.

 _Of course he does_ , she chastised herself a second later. _How could I ever think he didn’t?_

“You have a choice before you now,” the Emperor said. “Join me...or die.”

A jolt of shock smashed through Leia’s chest. She looked up at the Emperor, surprised and barely breathing, to see him staring at her with hard, cold eyes. He smiled.

Darth Vader ignited his lightsaber. It shone red amid the obsidian shadows, humming with hungry intent.

Leia stumbled to her feet and staggered backwards, fear sprinting up and down her spine and settling cold like ice in her stomach. “No,” she gasped, looking from the Emperor to Vader. “Please.”

“Make your choice,” the Emperor said.

 _“Leia?”_ Luke’s voice smashed through the fear holding Leia frozen. _“Leia, what’s going on? I can feel you’re scared, and...and where_ are _you? I can see where you’re at, but I...I don’t understand—”_

 _“Luke,”_ Leia gasped, relief pouring through her and pooling as tears in her eyes. _“Help me.”_

 _“What’s going on?”_ Luke asked again.

_“The Emperor, and Darth Vader, and he told me to choose or die, and the lightsaber—”_

_“Slow down, Leia,”_ Luke said.

 _“Here,”_ Leia said, and thought back over the last hours, showing Luke the highlights of what had happened to her since being woken. _“And now—”_

“Make your choice, Leia,” the Emperor said. “Choose me—or die.”

 _“What do I do?”_ Leia asked desperately.

 _“You told me that you couldn’t Fall,”_ Luke said. _“You said you’d bring darkness to the galaxy.”_

_“But is it worth dying for?”_

_“I don’t know,”_ Luke said, sounding desperate.

Leia backed away, entire body trembling with the struggle of staying upright, watching Vader come on with his ‘saber humming at his side. He moved with slow, purposeful strides—strides that Leia knew would eat up the distance between them in no time. She backed away farther still, heart pounding in her chest, sweat gathering in the small of her back.

 _“I can’t Fall,”_ Leia said. _“But I don’t want to die. Please, Luke. Help me.”_

 _“What will happen if you choose the Emperor?”_ Luke asked.

 _“Shmi said I’ll be a force of darkness the likes of which the galaxy has rarely seen,”_ Leia said, repeating what Shmi had told her. _“I...I’ll kill people. And hurt people. And be the Emperor’s right hand.”_

_“So which is worse: that, or dying?”_

Vader neared. He lifted his lightsaber—and Leia collapsed beneath it, crawling toward the dais and the Emperor.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Leia told Luke. _“I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I don’t want to die either.”_

_“You’re gonna have to decide.”_

_“What do you think I should do?”_

_“I don’t want you to die,”_ Luke said. _“But...but you have to decide if your life is worth more than others’—more than those you’ll kill and hurt.”_

Leia was silent for a moment as she crawled to the foot of the dais, looking over her shoulder and watching Vader turn and come on again, lightsaber once more at his side.

 _“No,”_ she finally decided. _“No, my life isn’t worth more than theirs. I...I know what I have to do.”_

Luke’s emotions struck Leia like a load of bricks: sorrow and fear so profound it made her dizzy. For a second her conviction wavered. But no—no, she had to do this.

 _“I love you,”_ Luke said. _“I love you so much. I wanted to share my life with you.”_

 _“I did too,”_ Leia whispered—and sat up.

“I won’t choose you,” Leia said, looking up at the Emperor. “I won’t be a weapon of the Dark Side.”

The Emperor looked surprised. “So be it,” he said, and nodded at Vader.

Vader approached.

“This is your last chance,” the Emperor said. “Choose me, or—”

“No,” Leia said stoutly, and turned away from him—away from him and toward her death.

“You truly are a troublesome child,” the Emperor said. “You could have been great—could have been greater even than your sire. But instead you are nothing but a grave disappointment.”

Vader lifted his lightsaber overhead.

Leia closed her eyes, ready and waiting for the killing blow.

Something hard and heavy struck her on the head. She heard and felt Luke cry out in pain as he felt the blow—and then the whole world vanished.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The deal I made with you all last chapter was a resounding success. Soooo, let's try it again, shall we?
> 
> 10 reviews by Tuesday, and I'll upload chapter 5. 15 by Thursday and I'll upload it then. Otherwise I'll upload next Sunday. How does that sound?
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'd love to hear from you (...especially as I'm really uncertain as to the quality of this chapter...So please, let me know if you thought it was good, or if you thought it wasn't so good (though please, don't be *mean*...) Thank you!)


	18. Part 2: Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all came through. Like, really came through. I got twice as many reviews as I asked for! You all are amazing. Seriously. Thank you so, so much. (You can expect replies from me in the next couple of days, though it's going to take me some time to get through all of them...)
> 
> Thanks again to my wonderful betas absynthe--minded and princess-sansa-of-ithilien. Without them this fic wouldn't be what it is.
> 
> TW: torture

CHAPTER 5

Leia dripped slowly back to consciousness. Her head hurt, her mouth felt like cotton, and it seemed to her that there was iron in her blood, weighing her down and binding her hands and feet fast. 

It took another minute—a long, painful minute—for her to realize that it wasn’t iron in her blood that was binding her, but electrocuffs. She tried to shift her feet beneath her, only to be zapped by a painful amount of electricity, causing her to squeak in shock and pain. The sound came out muffled—and Leia realized, with a start and a jolt, that she was gagged.

She was laying on a duracrete floor. When Leia turned her head, it was to see a soaring duracrete ceiling lined with metal beams, from which hung brightly gleaming lights. The air smelled hot and heavy with the scent of gasoline and engine grease. Just as the realization dawned on her that she was in a hangar, she heard the sound of a speeder coming toward them, slow, then stop.

Footsteps, then someone knelt beside her. She looked up to see a burly, brutish man with long dark hair and thick stubble darkening his jaw leaning over her.

“Oh, hang on,” the man said, voice gruff. “She’s awake. Hal, get the next dose of sedative.”

More footsteps, and then a second man knelt by Leia’s side. He was tall and thin, with shortly cropped blond hair and shocking green eyes. “Here,” he said, and handed something that glinted in the harsh lights to the first man.

Leia felt a prick in her neck—and then the hangar and the men and the smell of gasoline and the sound of the idling engine faded away into nothing.

~oOo~

When Leia woke again it was to the rumble of a speeder beneath her. When she tried to turn her head, she found that her cheek was pressed against metal, warm from her skin and her breath, and that it was difficult to move. It felt like there was tar coating her skin and her bones, making any movement a grueling effort.

The first thing she did was reach for Luke, in desperate need for reassurance. She found the cord of their bond quickly and easily enough, but no matter how hard she pressed, just like always, she couldn’t seem to sink into it. All she could do was whisper his name entreatingly, hoping against hope that he would answer.

There was only silence.

Leia groaned, the sound swallowed by the gag still binding her mouth, and she tried to roll over. Her shoulder burned and her hip ached, and Leia wondered how long she had been lying there. Her movements were slow and stiff, and she had only made it halfway over when a boot came to rest on her chest, pushing her flat on her back.

“Well would you look at that,” said a man’s voice. “The little bitch is awake.”

Three men leaned over her from seats bolted to the speeder walls. They were all thick-jawed and bright-eyed, with rippling muscles that spoke of hours spent working out. All three wore identical black uniforms with high collars and shining boots. The one who had spoken had a scar cutting through his right eyebrow and a crooked nose, as if it had been broken and poorly healed.

“So, girl,” the second man said, “what’d ya do?” He had a tattoo curling up the sides of his neck, reaching for his ears and temples.

The third man was smaller than the rest, though no less muscled. He was the only one of the three to sport a beard, though it was trimmed close against his jaw. “Come on,” he said, “don’t be shy. We don’t bite.”

The other two laughed.

Leia remained silent, looking up at them with wide, frightened eyes. She did not like the look of them, with their muscles and their square jaws and their bright eyes. They scared her in a deep, primal way—in a way she did not quite understand. All she knew was that her mind and heart screamed _danger!_

“Come on, girl,” Scar said. “Answer us.”

Leia did not have an answer for them—and even if she did, her mouth was gagged. She mumbled that, trying to show them the error in their logic. In response, Tattoo delivered a sharp kick to her side.

The three of them laughed.

“So?” said Tattoo. “What’d ya do?”

Leia tried to speak again—and this time Beard kicked her in the ribs, hard.

“Must’ve been pretty bad,” he mused, as Leia coughed and gasped and tried to drag in a breath through her nose, “to land you with us. Especially at your age.”

More laughter.

“Come on, answer us!” Scar said. When Leia did not speak, he kicked her as well.

Leia closed her eyes and silently begged them to leave her alone. She didn’t know what they wanted. When she talked, they kicked her. When she didn’t talk, they kicked her. Was there any way for her to avoid being kicked?

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Tattoo said, delivering one final, cruel kick to Leia’s abused side. “It’ll surface eventually.”

Still laughing, the three sat back into their seats, leaving Leia alone.

Once again Leia tried to reach out for Luke. She found their bond—found it shining brilliantly amid her thoughts, above the shields protecting the Force—but she heard nothing from it but echoes of her own pleas.

They traveled for what felt like forever to Leia, but was probably only an hour. At last, however, the engine whined down from its rapid hum, and the floor of the speeder shuddered as it slowed. Leia looked up just in time to see a great shadow engulf the bright light streaming in through the windows. 

The speeder came to a halt, and the three men rose and opened the door at the back of the vehicle. Once all three were out, they turned back and Scar and Beard reached for her, grabbed her by the arms, and dragged her out.

They were in a massive hangar made of durasteel-reinforced duracrete. Black lines marked parking spaces, while orange, yellow, and red lines marched along the floor and walls toward the large double doors leading out of the hangar. Leia wondered what they meant.

Scar and Beard dragged her toward the double doors, Tattoo following behind. The doors slid open soundlessly at their approach, revealing more red, orange, and red-lined duracrete. A guard station stood off to the left, a metal barrier stretching across the hallway.

“IDs,” the man behind the station intoned, sounding bored. 

The three men scanned their badges, attached to their belts with sliding cords. “The girl’s a new  inmate,” Tattoo told the guard. “ID number...” He pulled out a small, handheld pad from his pocket. “8511920.” The guard nodded, and they pushed Leia through the metal barrier.

They escorted her down the hall to a small room at the end. A metal examination table sat off to the left, counters and racks of plasti bins lining the walls. To the right was a shower stall with a hose and nozzle.

Scar stepped forward and keyed open the electrocuffs. “Strip,” he ordered.

Leia looked at the other two, who stared back with hard eyes, then back at Scar. Her legs shook beneath her, barely supporting her weight.

“Please,” she said, pulling the gag from her mouth, “I just had a shower—”

“Strip,” Scar said again.

Leia weighed her options. She could either strip herself, or she could risk them stripping her. It would be better to do it herself—wouldn’t it?

Trembling, Leia pulled the white shirt over her head, the slid the white pants off of her hips. She dropped the shirt on the floor, and allowed the pants to pool around her feet, stepping out of them and wrapping her arms around her chest as she shivered. The three guards stared at her, gazes lingering between her legs and on her barely formed breasts, before drifting to her face.

Tattoo pointed at the shower. “Stand in there,” he ordered, as Beard stepped over and grabbed the shower nozzle.

Leia obeyed reluctantly. She didn’t want them touching her—not when naked—and so didn’t want to put up too much of a fight. Not so much of a fight that they would be tempted to hoist her into the shower themselves. She moved slowly and deliberately, forcing one shaking foot in front of the other. When she stepped into the shower she sank to the ground, gathering her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her shins.

The water was cold, as Leia had expected it to be, and smelled faintly of antiseptic. Leia reached back to grab her hair to hold it away from the spray—only to remember, with a jolt of her stomach, that her hair was gone.

They made her stand again, and kept her there for a minute while they hosed her down from head to toe. Only then did they let her out of the shower stall, dripping and shivering from the cold.

“Here,” Tattoo said, tossing her towel.

It was rough and scratchy and small, but Leia dried herself off as quickly as she could, trying all the while to hide her body from the sight of the three men. Their gazes made her uncomfortable—made her feel even more naked than she was.

Once she was dry, they half-led, half-carried her over to the examination table. “Get on,” Scar ordered, and Leia complied, not wanting them to touch her any more than they already had, albeit slowly.

They waited for a few minutes before a short, squat man with muddy eyes and paunchy lips appeared in the back doorway. He wore a lab coat over his black uniform, with a pad stylus tucked behind one ear.

“Ah, prisoner 851,” he said. “Let’s see what we have to do to you today.” He pulled a pad out of one of his pockets and skimmed over it, pulling the stylus from behind his ear to flick down the screen. “General health checkup, immunizations, tracker implant… All right,” he said with a humorless smile, looking back up at Leia. 

He listened to her lungs and to her heart, ordering her to breathe deeply and to sit up straight. Then he looked into her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and tested the reflexes of both knees. He nodded in satisfaction, ran a thermometer over her forehead, and took her pulse and blood pressure, recording all of the numbers down on his pad.

Then he turned to one of the counters and, opening a drawer, drew out a hypo. A small cooling unit sat in the corner underneath the counters, and it was to that that he turned his steps next. He crouched down in front of the cooling unit, opening the door and sifting through the bottles lined and stacked neatly therein. After a moment he withdrew two, one with a yellow top, one with a blue and green top.

Loading the yellow-topped bottle into the hypo, the doctor came over to Leia’s side and ordered, “Hold still.”

Leia tensed, fighting not to pull away as the doctor pressed the hypo to her arm and depressed the button. The hypo gave a small  _ snick _ , and Leia felt the cold rush of solution slide into her arm. It pricked, but did not hurt as much as Leia remembered hypos hurting. A second later and the second hypo had been filled and sent into Leia’s opposite arm.

“Lay down,” the doctor ordered Leia, turning away and going to another of the counters. Leia heard him open a drawer, then heard the beep of something electronic coming online. She lay down, keeping her attention on the doctor as he turned back around, pad in one hand and a little ball in the other.

Leia caught a glimpse of the pad’s screen. It flashed green, the word  _ Connected _ appearing in white at the top of it—and then the pad disappeared back into his pocket.

“Hold her down,” the doctor ordered, looking at the three guards still lounging by the door. 

They came forward. Scar and Beard grabbed Leia’s legs and pinned them to the table, while Tattoo grabbed onto her shoulders and forced them flat. Leia shuddered at their touch and tensed, every instinct in her screaming to fight their hold.

She gave into that instinct.

A shriek rising in her throat, Leia threw her body against the guards’ tight grip. Scar grunted, so surprised he almost lost a hold of Leia’s left leg. But then his hands tightened around her ankle and he pressed her leg flat against the table. The other two tightened their grips as well, leaning down to pin her.

Beard laughed at Scar. “Little bitch almost got away from you,” he said, lifting his head and glancing at Tattoo who was laughing as well.

“No she didn’t,” Scar groused, and in reply to their rising laughter he gripped Leia’s ankle painfully tight, holding her still as she tried to kick again, his fingers merciless against her skin and bones. 

The doctor reappeared at Leia’s side carrying a strange device. It was short and round and made of metal, one side oddly scooped out. “Hold her tight,” he said, holding the device against the shape of her hip bone and pressing a button.

For a second, there was only the whine of the device charging. Then Leia screamed, her skin tearing and her hip cracking, as something small and foreign buried itself into the bone.

The doctor left for a moment, then returned with a sterile wipe. He cleaned the blood from the small hole in Leia’s hip, then pressed a bacta patch over it. “Good as new,” he said, and patted Leia on the hip. Leia cried out in pain and fought not to cy.

“Anything else, doc?” Tattoo asked from above Leia’s head.

“No,” the doctor said. “My work is done. Out of curiosity, though,” he said, turning back, “what did this girl do to land her here?”

“Dunno,” Tattoo said. “It’s not in her file, and she wouldn’t tell us.”

“All we know is that the order came from the Emperor himself,” Scar added, “and that she’s going straight to iso.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “Must have been something pretty big then,” he said, clearly shocked. He looked at Leia, and shook his head. “It’s always the innocent-looking ones that’re the worst.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Beard said.

With that, the doctor turned and left through the door he had appeared out of, leaving Leia alone with the three guards.

They let her up. Leia sat, drawing her knees to her chest and hugging them, trying to curl into as small of a ball as she could. Her hip hurt fiercely, and tears of pain dripped down her cheeks, but maybe then they would stop tormenting her—maybe they would forget she was there and leave her be.

It was a foolish notion, Leia knew—one for babies and the stupid—but she couldn’t fight the feeling all the same. Anything that could make her less of a target, that could maybe make them think less of her, the better.

Beard went to the plasti tubs. From them he pulled a pair of grey pants, a grey shirt, underwear, and a pair of slip-on shoes with no laces. Turning, he dumped the pile at Leia’s feet.

“Get dressed,” he ordered.

That order Leia gladly obeyed.

The clothes were too big for her. The underwear fell over her hips to pool around her ankles, followed by the pants. The shirt hung to her mid-thighs and fell off one shoulder; it was more like a dress than a shirt. The shoes engulfed her feet, and if she had tried to take even one step she would have walked right out of them.

“Hm,” Beard said looking at her. “We don’t normally get kids—especially not kids as small as you.” He looked to his companions. “What do we do?”

“Just let her keep the shirt,” Scar suggested. “It covers her well enough.”

Tattoo gathered up the rest of the clothes, folding them with Beard’s help. Then they put the pants, underwear, and shoes back in the bins, leaving Leia with only the shirt.

“You get two of these,” Scar said, as Beard pulled a second shirt out of the bin. “So take good care of it. Understand?”

Leia nodded, and Beard shoved the extra shirt into her arms.

They led dragged her back out the door they had come through, then on down the hall to the lift. They rode down in silence, Leia trapped between Beard and Tattoo, Scar standing behind her. When the door opened, it was to more durasteel-reinforced duracrete, though this time the only color on the floor was red.

Down the hall they marched her, still trapped between Beard and Tattoo. They halted at a durasteel door near the end of it, Tattoo stepping forward to slide his ID against the blinking card reader beside it. The door clicked open.

Scar shoved Leia through the doorway. She stumbled, staggering to keep from falling, and turned just in time to see Scar grin and wave at her before closing the door.

The cell Leia found herself standing in was small and bare, but for a cot bolted a foot above the floor in the corner, opposite a toilet. There were no blankets or sheets on the cot, there was no sink, and two cameras blinked at her from opposing corners, leaving no edge of the room unseen. Even so, it was more decor than Leia had had in a long time.

She sat down on the cot, still hugging the spare shirt to her chest, and surveyed her new abode. There was a stain on the floor in front of the door, and a crack in the duracrete above the toilet. Otherwise it was very drab and very uniform.

Leia lay down and stares at the wall beside her. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, then spilled down her cheeks.

_ What did I do to deserve this?  _ she wondered. She was afraid—of the men and their stares, of her new and cold surroundings, of the unknown threat looming before her—and she felt sick with anxiety. She longed for the comforting, familiar darkness of her previous cell.

She also longed for Luke. He still hadn’t appeared, and his last words echoed now in the silence surrounding her.  _ “I love you so much,” _ he had said.  _ “I wanted to share my life with you.” _

Yet now he was gone.

What did that mean? Had he lied in an attempt to make her death a little easier to bear? Had he wanted to show her one last kindness before Vader killed her, but now that she had survived didn’t want anything to do with her? Had he abandoned her, lied to her about loving her, just like Mon and Carlist had?

Not wanting to think about it, Leia curled into a ball and drifted off to sleep, taking comfort in the softness of the spare shirt cradled in her arms and the softness of the thin mattress beneath her.

~oOo~

The next few days passed in a haze of boredom for Leia. She slept for most of it, and what she did not spend asleep she spent practicing walking around the confines of her cell, memorizing each divet and pockmark in the ceiling, floor, and walls. 

Luke still did not contact her. Leia pretended that she was not hurt by that—that it did not affect her, that she had been expecting it—but the truth was that, with each passing day that she did not hear from him, she grew angrier and sadder. It was a frightful mix, the anger and the sadness, one that made her want to scream and want to burst into tears all at once.

Feeling those things only made it worse, however.  _ I should have been expecting it, _ Leia told herself, over and over again, and  _ You’re worthless, just like the Grand Inquisitor said. No one wants you. _ That she was feeling anger and sorrow over a loss that she knew now she should have been expecting made her all the angrier and all the sadder.

Twice, when she was on the cusp of sleep, Leia thought she heard him—heard a flicker of a heartbeat, heard the far-distant echo of her name being called. But each time, when she tried to grab onto those things—each time she thought it happened—the feeling slid away before it was fully-formed, leaving her more angry and hurt than before. 

They seemed to her to be the dying throes of that which was lost—the final threads of their connection wavering and ending, severed and forgotten by Luke. She had, after all, been cast away—hadn’t she?

She was fed twice a day, and a small bottle of water sat on each tray that slid through the slot at the bottom of the door. She drank and ate greedily, careless of the sour, metallic taste that chased down both water and food. It was better food—and more of it—than she had been given for months, and she did not want to question the small blessing it seemed to be.

She threw up the first day, her body not taking the sudden influx of food well. She spent over an hour crouched over the toilet, miserably vomiting chunks of bread and thin gruel, crying softly. When she was done she wished she had water to rinse her mouth—but there was none, the only water left in the cell the thin film of water in the toilet.

As the days stretched on, and Leia grew more and more accustomed to her new surroundings, she lost her fear of them. She began to daydream of how she should have responded to the guards that brought her in—imagined denying them, defying them, disrespecting them. Even in her daydreams always ended with her being beaten, but that would have been worth it. Wouldn’t it? 

She wasn’t just some weak, whimpering child. She had stood up to the Grand Inquisitor, to Ninth Brother, Thirteenth Sister, Danyil, Cora. They had hurt her, but that hadn’t changed Leia’s attitude; if anything, their blows and their barbs had strengthened Leia’s resolve as well as strengthened her Force shields.

_ If anyone comes in again, _ Leia promised herself as she lay in bed the fifth night, snuggling the spare shirt to her chest,  _ I’ll stand up to them. _

Then, on the first day of the second week—Leia had been keeping careful track ever since it had become clear to her that Luke was not coming back—Leia got her chance. She was just finishing eating breakfast when she heard the keypad on the other side of the wall beep, and then her door clicked open.

It was a guard Leia had never seen before, big and burly with bushy eyebrows and a curling sneer. He wore a stun gun and an electrobaton on his belt, opposite a pair of cuffs, and his boots were so shiny Leia thought she could see her reflection in them if she looked.

“On your feet, 851,” Big Burly ordered.

Leia frowned. “And why should I do that?” she asked churlishly.

“Because I said so,” Big Burly said.

“No.”

Big Burly frowned. It was a ghastly sight. “Get on your feet now,” he snapped.

“No,” Leia repeated, gratified to see surprise and confusion play across his face. It was clear he hadn’t been expecting her to refuse.

“Get up, or I’ll come in and get you,” Big Burly warned.

Leia crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. 

Again, this was not what Big Burly had expected. But he had threatened himself into a corner—now he had to come in and get her, or he would look weak and like a fool. He started forward, drawing his baton and flicking on the electricity with a  _ spark _ and  _ sizz _ . Leia remained where she sat, though she eyed the baton with growing panic. It was going to hurt to be touched by that thing, she knew; as Big Burly neared, lifting the baton to strike, Leia wondered if she had been an idiot. But it was too late now.

Big Burly struck her across the shoulder with it, and the electricity sparked and sizzled into Leia, sharp and hot. She reeled from the blow, muscles tensing from the shock, teeth and bones hurting, vision blurring, breath freezing in her lungs. Then she gasped, eyesight returning, body relaxing as the electric current vanished.

“Get up,” Big Burly ordered again. “Or do I have to give you another dose?”

Leia got up shakily. In the end, she knew he would win, no matter how obstinate she was—and she had now proven, to herself if not to Big Burly, that she could resist.

“Take off your shirt,” Big Burly ordered.

Leia frowned and shook her head. “No,” she said, indignant.

“Take it off,” Big Burly growled, clearly irritated, “or I will take it off for you. And I just might accidentally rip it.”

Glaring, Leia reached for the hem of the shirt and pulled it up and over her head. It wasn’t worth it to risk one of her two earthly possessions to be ruined, no matter the indignation or embarrassment that might follow.

Big Burly grabbed Leia’s shoulder and shoved her forward, planting his stun baton in the small of her back. “One wrong move,” he warned, “and I turn this on. Got it?”

Leia nodded.

“Good. Now let’s go.”

Already shivering and shaking from the exertion of standing, Leia followed Big Burly’s directions, turning left out of her cell and walking down the hall toward the lift door. Big Burly hit the “down” button, and they waited in silence for the lift to open for them. They rode downwards, Leia watching the numbers slide higher, higher, higher until the green lettering read  _ Bsmt _ , the only sound that of their breath and the soft hum of the motors. 

The door opened with a chime, and Big Burly shoved Leia forward and out into the waiting hall. It was short, with only two doors—staggered unevenly—on either side, made of duracrete and durasteel. There were no colored lines on the floor, however.

Big Burly pushed Leia forward, guiding her down the hall to the nearest door on the right. He swiped his ID, and the door clicked open. 

Leia expected to see another cell on the other side, and so was surprised to see a large, open room with a metal table at the center, and cabinets and counters, filled with medical equipment, lining the walls. Restraints—cuffs for the hands and for the feet, and three leather belts—hung from the table’s edge, swinging gently in the air filtering from the vent overhead. Bright lights were mounted into recesses in the ceiling, shedding white-gold light over the room, giving it a sterile, metallic sheen only aided by the smell of antiseptic and bleach in the air. A chain and pair of cuffs hung from the ceiling to the right, and to the left was a metal chair that, like the table, sported restraints.

A tall and thin woman was standing by the counters at the back of the room, but when Leia and Big Burly entered, she turned. “There you are,” she said, her voice high and cold—high and cold to match the ice of her eyes and the ice of her pale blonde hair. “What took you so long?”

“The little bitch didn’t wanna get up,” Big Burly said.

“You have 200 pounds on her,” Ice Eyes said, voice dripping with condescension. “Her ‘not wanting to get up’ shouldn’t have meant a damn thing.”

Big Burly bristled. Leia could feel it in the way the baton dug into the small of her back, and in the way tension thickened in the air. She took a step forward, away from the baton and the likelihood of Big Burly accidentally—or not accidentally—hitting the button that would send the electric current coursing through her.

“Never mind,” the woman said, and turned her attention on Leia. “My name is Valiria Vrosha, but you may call me ‘ma’am’. Understood?”

“Yes,” Leia said.

“Yes what?”

Leia stuck her chin out obstinately and crossed her arms.

Vrosha arched one pale eyebrow. “Well, 851?”

Leia remained silent, and fought to stay upright. Her legs were shaking and threatened to give out beneath her.

Vrosha nodded at Big Burly.

The current came unexpectedly. Leia fell to her knees, then to her stomach, Big Burly following her with the baton. When at last he was done, her entire body ached.

“Well, 851?” Vrosha asked again. “Do you have something to say to me?”

“Yes  _ ma’am _ ,” Leia spat She forced her arms under her, and pushed herself upright.

“That’s a good girl,” Vrosha said. Then, “Well, Melbar? Get her on the table.”

Big Burly sheathed his baton and, before Leia could even begin to protest, picked her up. He carried her to the table, where he laid her down on her stomach. The metal was cold against her skin and Leia shivered. He had fastened the ankle cuffs before Leia could process what was happening, holding her still while he moved to fasten her left hand, then circled to her right. 

“Thank you, Melbar,” Vrosha said. Leia turned her head in time to see the woman approach the table, smiling. “That will be all for an hour—unless you’d like to stay and watch?”

Big Burly shook his head. “I can’t stomach you damn ISB agents, or what you do to people.”

Vrosha shrugged. “So be it. Be back here in an hour.”

Big Burly snorted, but nodded. Then, turning on his heel, he stalked out of the room.

For just an instant, in the moment of silence that followed in which Vrosha circled the table on which Leia was cuffed, Leia thought she felt a flutter of thought and emotion not from her. She tried to grab onto it—to seize it and hold it and examine it—but it was gone almost before it had fully formed.

It had felt like Luke. In that instant of contact, Leia had thought she glimpsed Luke’s bright blue sky and desert sand—but that was impossible, wasn’t it? He had abandoned her.

“Well now, 851,” Vrosha said, shattering the moment and bringing Leia back to the present, “or should I call you  _ Leia _ —whatever should we do today?” She drifted toward the counters at the back of the room, running one thin, long-fingered hand over the instruments arrayed atop them. 

Leia watched her awkwardly, propping her chin up on the table to be able to see her.

“You’ve already had a taste of electricity, so I think that’s out of the equation. But...hmm, how about this?” She selected a long, thin device from the countertop, its end flattened into a disc. “Yes,” Vrosha said, flicking a switch on the side. “I think this will do nicely.”

Within seconds the disc was glowing white-hot. Vrosha carried it carefully over to Leia, hesitating by her face for a moment. “You poor child,” she murmured, stroking Leia’s cheek. Leia tried—and failed—to jerk away. “If only you hadn’t caught the Emperor’s favor, you might have been spared this pain.”

_ No, _ Leia wanted to to say.  _ I’m worthless. That’s why this is happening. _

But, before she could speak, and without warning, Vrosha brought the gleaming device up and pressed it to Leia’s back.

Leia screamed.

~oOo~

Leia lay on her stomach on her cot—still naked, clutching her spare shirt in her hands above her head—and tried not to cry. Her entire body hurt, though the pain radiated out from her back—her back, which burned and ached and stung all at once. It hurt to move, it hurt to be still, it hurt even to breathe, the movement of her expanding lungs pulling at the burns arrayed across her back.

“You’re lucky,” Vrosha had said, patting Leia on the backside halfway through the hour-long session. “I’m feeling particularly nice today. I’ll only brand your back this time—but don’t expect me to be this nice always. I just feel bad for you, being a little girl and all.”

Leia didn’t feel lucky, though. She hurt—hurt so bad she wanted to scream, and keep on screaming and never stop. But that would hurt too, and would give her a headache on top of the pain in her back.  _ Not worth it, _ Leia decided, closing her eyes tightly shut and gripping her spare shirt in even tighter fists.

“Don’t worry,” Vrosha had said, once Leia had stopped screaming the first time, “these burns are only skin-deep. We don’t want you getting off easy with nerve damage, after all.”

Wordless spite soured her throat even as it tightened, and Leia had to bite her tongue to keep from crying.

With a groan and a whimper Leia rolled up onto her right side. The movement pulled at the burns, but it was growing more and more difficult to breathe—which was hurting her in another way.  _ Maybe _ , she hoped,  _ if I can get comfortable and not move, it’ll be better on my side. _

She settled down and snuggled the spare shirt close against her chest, curling her arms protectively around it. Breathing still hurt, the movement of her lungs pulling at the skin of her back—but no longer was her breathing belaboured. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless, and Leia latched onto it with fierce relief.

_ It’s going to be okay, _ she told herself.  _ You can make it through this. _

After a few moments of pained breathing, Leia closed her eyes.  _ Maybe sleep will help _ , she hoped.

Sleep, however, was elusive. No matter what Leia tried—counting to a hundred, a thousand, backwards from twice that; imagining and counting thrantas; picturing herself in the Palace of Alderaan’s gardens—she could not drift off to sleep. Every time she drew close, the pain in her back would spike, driving it away again.

Finally, frustrated and once more close to tears, Leia gave up. Instead she simply lay there, in pain and fighting back sobs—from pain, from disappointment, from a deep-seated fear that she had not yet even acknowledged—trying to keep her breathing even and steady for the sake of her back.

Slowly, without even realizing what was happening, Leia slid into a stupor. The world blurred around her, turning to incense and daydream, and she drifted through consciousness in a daze of pain and exhaustion.

There, shining before her, was the cord binding her to Luke. It glowed through the haze of her stupor, burning away the mist and the daydream and the exhaustion, leaving her with only herself, alone, but for the cord and its brilliant golden glow.

But even as she looked, it seemed to Leia as if the far end of the cord coiled, coalesced, shifted, and changed, turning from a cord to an ember buried and burning as Luke himself in his entirety: body, heart, mind, and soul. 

Looking to her end of the cord, Leia saw that the same was happening to her—that she herself was turning to a fire-lit ember burning with an inner light. It  _ was  _ her—was all of her: thoughts and dreams and feelings and aspirations. It was every bit of pain, every bit of hope, every bit of despair she felt in that instant; it was every shred and fragment of her that had ever existed, existing all at once in every second of being.

The cord was no more. The connection was there—but instead of being a distinct link binding them together, they simply  _ were _ : were one, were the other, were both together.

Leia reached for the ember that was Luke. She touched it—touched him  _ through _ her, as if by touching the ember that was her she was touching the ember that was him—and for just an instant, Leia could hear him: his thoughts, his heart, his laughter.

And then it was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the next chapter is already written (though the next is not, so this may be the last time we do this for a bit), and since this has worked so well these last two times, why not go for a third? 10 reviews by Thursday and I'll upload then, or 15 by Saturday and I'll upload Saturday. Otherwise I'll upload sometime next week. Deal?
> 
> Most importantly though, I hope you enjoyed!


	19. Part 2: Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I've gotten way behind in answering them, but I'll try to do so this weekend - or start doing so anyway. Huge thanks to tumblr users absynthe--minded and wingletblackbird for their fantastic beta jobs.
> 
> TW: torture, child sexual abuse, rape, pedophilia

CHAPTER 6

Two meals later—meals that Leia was unable to eat, the pain stilling her appetite and rendering her motionless—the door to Leia’s cell opened and two guards came in. One was tall and thin and startlingly handsome with short black hair that spiked at the tips and shockingly pale blue eyes; the second was unremarkable but for his crooked nose and his long, blond hair which was gathered into a bun at the nape of his neck.

Wordlessly they crossed to the cot on which Leia lay and grabbed her by the arms. Startled, Leia yelled in pain and dropped her spare shirt which fell to the floor and was kicked beneath the cot. Leia reached for it, desperate and yearning—only to be dragged, sobbing and whimpering, through the cell door and out into the hall.

“I can’t believe we drew babysitter duty,” Crooked Nose complained in the lift. Leia sat on her knees between the two guards, the pain rendering her unable to stand and leaving her crying and weak.

“I don’t know,” Pale Eyes said. He turned and knelt before Leia, reaching out and cupping her face with a hand. “I think it could be worse.”

Leia’s eyes met his, and an unpleasant jolt ran through her from sternum to toes. He was smiling, his teeth white and straight, but his beautiful eyes were cold and calculating turning her stomach to ice. He seemed to see something more than Leia could guess at—saw something in her that transcended what Leia knew of herself. It made Leia uncomfortable, and she shifted in spite of the pain, trying to pull her head away from his hand.

He patted her cheek, and rose to stand once more by her side. “There are worse lots we could have drawn,” he said, speaking over Leia’s head to Crooked Nose.

Crooked Nose humphed, and glancing up at him Leia saw him shrug. “I guess,” he said.

The lift chimed and the door slid open. Leaning down, Crooked Nose and Pale Eyes seized Leia beneath the arms and dragged her out and down the hall, her knees dragging against the floor. Leia kicked at the ground in a futile attempt to stand—but her body betrayed her every time she thought she was about to gain her feet, sending her falling back against the guards’ grips with a whimper and gasp of pain.

Halfway down the hall, they turned in at an open doorway. Lifting her head, Leia saw a large room lined with twin rows of beds, drifting blue curtains hanging between each of them for privacy. A table stood to the left of each bed on which sat a lamp and a pad. Charts hung on the ends of the beds, while on the right sides rose metal railings from which hung pairs of cuffs. Doors sat closed and dark on either end of the room.

“Hey, Doc,” Crooked Nose called, dropping Leia’s left arm, “we brought 851 for ya.”

The door on the left side of the room slid open and the short, paunchy-lipped man from Leia’s first day there appeared. He glanced at Leia, and at Crooked Nose and Pale Eyes, and motioned for them to follow him.

“Well bring her here,” he said impatiently when they did not immediately move to obey.

Crooked Nose picked up Leia’s left arm again, and together he and Pale Eyes dragged Leia after Doc. The door on the right side of the room opened at Doc’s approach, and Pale Eyes and Crooked Nose followed him through it and into the room on the other side.

A large bacta tank sat at the center of the small room, empty and waiting dim light like the maw of a rancor. Doc was already at the table shoved into the back right corner, picking up and preparing the breathing mask, when the guards dragged Leia through.

“Here,” Doc said, as they drew near, and slid the breath mask over Leia’s nose and mouth. A gust of cold, sterile oxygen washed across the lower half of Leia’s face, and she dragged in an automatic breath.

The door to the bacta tank slid open, and Pale Eyes and Crooked Nose shoved her through. Leia stumbled and fell to her knees, the pain robbing her legs of their strength. She landed with a soft _splash_ , the bottom of the tank already filling with eerily glowing blue bacta.

It rose around her knees, her thighs, her waist. Then it swallowed her, submerging her in thick gel. Leia instinctively held her breath as the bacta covered her face—only to gasp for air a moment later when lights began to burst behind her closed eyes. The cool, sterile air of the mask met her, and Leia forced herself to draw in one, two, three long, even breaths. It would do her no good to pass out from hyperventilating.

She opened her eyes. The view through the bacta and the glass of the tank was warped and shifting, but Leia could just make out Pale Eyes standing on the other side, arms crossed over his chest, head canted to one side. Leia wondered what he was looking it—and tried not to think that he was looking at _her_.

Leia blinked, long and slow, unexpected exhaustion sinking claws into her flesh and bones. She was suddenly so very tired—so tired she couldn’t keep her eyelids open. That bacta had sedative properties was the last thing Leia thought of before she slid under the heavy, warm blanket of sleep.

~oOo~

When Leia woke, it was to soft sheets and a softer bed. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking away the cobwebs of sleep, and found herself staring at a white ceiling. For a long moment she simply allowed her mind to drift, letting herself ebb back into wakefulness—letting her thoughts catch up to her body.

For a long second she hovered between reality and dream, mind tangled in the memory of sleep and body rushing to wake up. In that liminal space she was nothing and everything, herself and more than herself—was _someone_ else, someone bright and kind and beloved. She knew him, just as she knew herself, and knew that she had been searching for him…

Leia blinked, and her sense of self and the sense of _other_ she had felt was gone. She was only Leia once more—a Leia that was awake, and mysteriously pain-free.

Then she remembered: the bacta. They must have healed her.

Leia shifted, feeling the sheets slide against her skin. She remembered she was still naked; she’d been unable to put her shirt back on in the wake of the burns on her back, and so had left herself bare. She blushed now, and hunkered deeper down into the sheets, wanting to hide her nakedness from everyone, including herself.

There came footsteps, and Leia glanced to her right. Pale Eyes walked through the door to the infirmary, a prima fruit in his hands, his expression casual and uninhibited. He looked over at Leia as he entered, and cocked his eyebrows when he saw she was awake.

“How do you feel, 851?” he asked, coming over to her bed. She was only a few beds from the door, and as he came to a halt beside her, she noticed for the first time that a chair had been pulled to her bedside.

“I’m okay,” Leia said warily as Pale Eyes sat.

“Good,” he said, and took a bite of the prima fruit. “You look better.”

Leia nodded. She hesitated, then asked in a small voice, “How long was I…”

“How long were you in bacta?” Pale Eyes asked. Leia nodded. “Seven hours. It had to heal not only your back but also your atrophied muscles. Here,” he said then, and extended the prima fruit to her. “Have a bite.”

Leia took it carefully, barely daring to believe his kindness. It had been more than a year since she had had fresh fruit. She took a tentative bite—and then, when Pale Eyes laughed and said, “A _real_ bite,” she tore a chunk from the soft flesh. Juice ran down her chin, and Leia felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said, sniffing and handing the prima fruit back. She wiped her mouth, and her tears, and settled back against the pillows beneath her.

Pale Eyes finished the fruit in silence, then stood. “Well, come on,” he said, motioning for Leia to follow him. “Let’s go.”

Leia climbed slowly out of bed, aware of Pale Eyes’s gaze on her as she slid out from between the sheets. She felt uncomfortable, and yearned to dive back beneath them—to cover and hide herself, from the world and from him—but then she remembered his kindness with the prima fruit, and told herself sternly, _He’s okay. He just wants to make certain you’re coming_.

“I’m trusting you not to do anything stupid,” Pale Eyes said as he led the way out of the infirmary. “Don’t make me regret trusting you enough not to be holding you at baton-point. Got it?”

“Okay,” Leia said, quiet and meek. For him, she decided, she would obey and be good.

Pale Eyes glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Good girl.”

They rode up the lift in silence, and then Pale Eyes led the way back to Leia’s cell. He opened the door and motioned her inside—then followed her in. Leia looked behind her, surprised, wondering what he wanted.

“Come here, 851,” Pale Eyes said, and motioned her over.

Leia grabbed her shirt from her bed and pulled it over her head, then turned and crossed on hesitant feet to Pale Eyes. She halted in front of him, and he knelt so that he was on her level. Reaching out, he gripped her head and held her still. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Leia’s, forcing hers open with his tongue.

Leia yelped and tried to jerk away, but Pale Eyes held her firmly against him. She thrashed, bringing a hand up to push at his chest. He was as firm and solid as a mountain, and just as moveable.

His tongue slid around hers, probing deeper and deeper. Leia choked, and reached for his face. Her nails bit into his chin—and Pale Eyes jerked away, bringing a hand up to press against the three scratches bleeding fitfully.

He slapped her. Leia fell in a sprawl, the duracrete of her cell’s floor biting into her palms and knees and drawing blood. She gagged and crawled away, putting as much distance between herself and Pale Eyes as she could, curling up in the back corner of the tiny room.

“I’m nice to you,” Pale Eyes said, rising, still clutching his chin. “I give you fruit, and I trust you not to run, and I give you the gift of my attention, and _this_ is how you repay me?”

Leia hugged her knees to her chest and tried not to cry. She remembered seeing her mother and father kissing, and knew what it was—knew, at least, that it was meant to be something shared between two people in love. She didn’t love Pale Eyes. She hardly knew him.

Pale Eyes sneered, his handsome face turning ugly. He took a threatening step toward her—only to stop, his eyes filming over as if he was looking very far away. He pressed a finger to a spot behind his right ear and said calmly, with only the faintest note of surprise, “Beck’s involved? Yes. I’ll be right there.”

He looked back at Leia. “This isn’t over, 851,” he said, the sneer returning to his voice. “They need me in the main ward—but I’ll be back. And you’ll be sorry you didn’t take my gift.”

With that Pale Eyes whirled on his heel and stalked out of her cell, the door clicking shut behind him.

Leia buried her face in her knees and let out a sob. Suddenly all the fear and disgust and confusion at what just happened rushed up and overwhelmed her, drowning her in a rushing tide of emotion.

For half a second—for a breath, a heartbeat, a blink of time—Leia thought she heard Luke’s voice calling to her through the wave. It was soft and sweet, bright like Luke and full of the brilliant blue sky of his desert. _“Leia,”_ she thought she heard, her name a prelude on his tongue.

Whatever was meant to come after was silenced, however, cut off before it could come to fruition—leaving Leia very much alone once more.

~oOo~

Big Burly came for her again the next day.

Leia, lying on her cot and snuggling her spare shirt, looked up at the sound of the lock releasing. When she saw him in the doorway, she sat up, wary and uncertain.

“Come with me,” Big Burly ordered, taking a step back so that Leia could exit her cell.

“No,” Leia said, scooting into the back corner of her cot, drawing her knees back up to her chest.

“Come on,” Big Burly growled.

“No,” Leia said again.

Big Burly snarled and came into the room. When he reached for her, Leia kicked at him, the heel of her bare foot smacking into the palm of his hand and knocking it away. Big Burly cursed and drew his baton.

“Last warning,” he said, voice low with danger.

Leia kicked at him again.

Big Burly struck hard and fast, first to her shoulder, then to her head. Leia yelled in pain as she was knocked into the wall—and yelled again, a high-pitched, frantic whine, when Big Burly activated the baton in her stomach. Grabbing her by the hand, Big Burly dragged Leia from her cot and out of the room.

Leia fought him the whole way to the lift, digging her heels into the ground and wrenching at Big Burly’s hold around her right wrist. “Let me go!” she shrieked at the lift, and changed tactics, lunging toward the guard and kicking at his shins. Big Burly cursed again and held her away from him, leaving Leia kicking at thin air.

Vrosha was waiting for them in the wide room, arms crossed over her chest, a humorless smile playing at her lips. She pointed silently to the chain hanging from the ceiling, and Big Burly dragged Leia over to them, still kicking and screaming.

Big Burly fastened Leia’s wrists into the shackles, the cold durasteel clicking around her skin. Then he nodded to Vrosha and stepped quickly back, avoiding Leia’s flying heel. Vrosha uncrossed her arms, strode over to the wall behind Leia, and pressed a button. The chain began to rise, wheeled into the ceiling, lifting Leia’s arms above her head, then her feet above the ground.

In a moment she hung from her wrists, shoulders burning and toes scraping at the duracrete floor.

“Get that shirt off her,” Vrosha ordered, and Leia felt as much as heard Big Burly stalk toward her from beyond her line of sight. Then she felt his hand at the nape of her neck, gripping the cloth of her shirt. He yanked—and the cloth ripped from collar to hem. He yanked again, this time at her right sleeve, then again at her left, and the tatters of her shirt slid from her body to pool at her feet.

Leia bit back tears. She was once more naked and afraid, at the mercy of the woman who had tortured her not three days ago.

“That will be all, Melbar,” Vrosha said.

Big Burly left the room.

“Now then, 851,” Vrosha said, coming around to stand in front of Leia. “What shall we do today?” She smiled—and Leia knew that her question was nothing more than a farce. She had already decided what she was going to do.

Vrosha disappeared around Leia’s side, and after a moment Leia heard the hiss of a compartment opening. She craned her neck over her shoulder just in time to watch Vrosha shake out the long coils of a whip—and then pain exploded through Leia’s back, driving the breath from her lungs in a grunt.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think of anything but the pain and the slick wetness of blood running down her back.

A gasp. Leia dragged in a breath, whimpered, and drew in a second. A sob, dry and tearless.

_Crack._

She swung from her wrists, body driven forward by the whip’s momentum. Slowly she turned, the chain spinning, until she could see Vrosha standing half a dozen feet away, smiling. There was no humor in her eyes—no desire, no joy.

_Crack._

_Why?_ Leia wondered. _Why is she doing this?_

_Crack._

Leia screamed.

_Crack._

And Leia knew no more.

~oOo~

Consciousness came like mist at dawn, drifting and ethereal and inconsistent. One second Leia would almost be awake—light and sight filtering in through her half-closed lashes—and then the next she saw only darkness, comforting and welcoming.

When she did finally awaken fully, clawing her way through the mist to consciousness, it was to find herself still hanging from her wrists, slick blood carving tracks down the backs of her legs, dripping from her toes to puddle on the floor beneath her. She swung slowly in a lazy circle, turning, turning, turning from one end of the room to the other, then back again.

Vrosha sat on a stool by one of the counters a dozen paces away, typing methodically on a portable computer. She glanced up every so often, taking note of Leia, then turning back to her keyboard and screen. Leia wondered idly, in a distant part of her brain unaffected by the pain, what it was she was typing.

Leia heard movement at the door. When she finally spun around towards it, however, it was not Big Burly standing there, but Pale Eyes. He looked apologetic, and as Leia swung past she heard him say to Vrosha, “I’m Jerrid Delios. Melbar is busy. I offered to come collect her.”

Vrosha shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I don’t really care who collects her,” she said. “Just that she’s gone.”

Pale Eyes crossed to the wall behind Leia. Very suddenly she dropped, the chain going slack. She fell to the floor in an awkward sprawl, crying out in pain as her back was jostled.

“Stand up,” Pale Eyes ordered, coming over to and halting above Leia.

Leia remained on the ground.

“Get up.”

Leia curled into a ball.

Pale Eyes bent down by Leia’s side, leaning close. “If you get up,” he murmured to her, so quietly Vrosha couldn’t hear, “I’ll smuggle you a whole prima fruit just for you.”

Leia’s heart leapt. A whole prima fruit! Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled in spite of the pain. A whole prima fruit just for her!

But he had kissed her. He had threatened her. He had seemed kind, but he had scared her and made her uncomfortable.

Was a prima fruit worth it?

“Stand up and get a prima fruit,” Pale Eyes said, “or I’ll drag you.”

Leia stood.

It hurt, and for a second she wavered on her feet, her body crying out in pain. But then Pale Eyes grabbed her by the elbow, steadying her. “Easy there,” he said softly, and then guided her forward, out the door and down the hall.

They stepped into the lift, Pale Eyes still supporting her. Moving was easier now that she had started, but Leia was still unsteady on her feet, the pain making her dizzy. Pale Eyes led her to the back of the lift, transferring her from his arm to the wall.

“There,” he said as the lift doors closed. “Better?”

Leia nodded.

The lift began to rise. Pale Eyes smiled and turned, pressing Leia against the wall.

“Just you and me,” he said, hands creeping between them to ghost against her chest.

Leia reached up to shove him, but he caught her wrists with a hand. Pushing them up above her head and trapping them against the wall, he pressed closer still, his free hand drifting down between her legs.

“Don’t you like this?” he crooned, stroking her.

Leia thrashed, tugging futilely against his grip. “Stop,” she begged, twisting beneath him, trying to rid herself of his touch.

“Don’t worry,” Pale Eyes said. “I won’t fuck you. Not yet. I want you whole and healthy before I do that.”

Leia began to cry.

“Hush now,” Pale Eyes said. “Or I won’t give you your prima fruit.”

“I don’t want it,” Leia said. “Please, _stop._ ”

For a second—a blink, a whisper, a heartbeat—Leia considered using the Force. She could kill him. She had done it before. It would be easy enough to snap his neck, or throw him into the wall, or shatter his spine.

Before she had even processed it, Leia reached for the Force.

It wasn’t there. It was—she could feel it burning in her—but there was a wall between her and it, and not the durasteel bands she had used to control it. This wall was sticky and springy, bulging when she flung an arrow of thought at it but staying strong. It blanketed the Force within her—including the shining cord that bound her to Luke. Her rain continued to fall, but it spattered and ran off of the wall, dripping into nothingness.

The lift chimed. Pale Eyes smiled, and pulled away.

“Come on now, 851,” he said, grabbing her elbow and dragging her away from the wall. “Let’s get you back to your cell.”

Leia stumbled after him, thoughts clouded in a fog of fear and horror and disgust. She barely noticed him opening her cell door, or leading her inside. She only realized where she was when the cell door clicked shut.

What had just happened was wrong. She knew it in the ugly pit of her stomach, in her thudding heart, in her aching bones. Everything felt warped and misshapen, the world colored with hues of purple and deep blue and black. He had done something forbidden, something unspeakable.

Leia crawled beneath her cot, taking her spare shirt with her, ignoring the pain and blood of the lash wounds on her back. She curled up there, holding the soft cloth of the shirt against her chest as if that could protect her from the memory of what had just happened, fighting to keep her tears at bay.

She felt violated and alone. So very, very alone.

 _“Luke,”_ she called for the first time in days. _“Luke, please… I need you.”_

The embers that had grown in her mind pulsed, and for a second Leia thought that Luke had heard her—that Luke was coming to her, to offer warm words of comfort and strength. But then the light of the embers dimmed, and Luke’s voice never came.

Leia wept then—wept for Luke, for herself: for the beating she had suffered at Vrosha’s hands, and for what had just happened between her and Pale Eyes, though she had no words to describe it. She wept, and hid beneath her cot, not even coming out when Pale Eyes appeared, prima fruit in hand.

“You were a good girl today,” he said, placing the prima fruit on the floor in front of Leia’s cot. “Even if you did try to fight me.”

Then, straightening, he turned and left, leaving Leia alone with the fruit of his crime.

~oOo~

They left Leia alone for two days, her only contact with the world beyond her cell the metal droid arm that pushed the tray of food through the slot at the bottom of the door. Leia spent the time laying on or beneath her cot, cuddling the spare shirt. She slept fitfully and in small bursts, waking after only a few hour’s rest sweating and hyperventilating.

She dreamed of the room in the basement, and of Vrosha smiling. She dreamed of Pale Eyes touching her. She dreamed of the Emperor and the throne room, black and scarlet and filled with shadows.

On the second day, however, Tattoo reappeared. “Come on,” he said gruffly, “let’s get you fixed up.”

Leia spent six hours in the bacta tank. When she woke some time later, she did so feeling more refreshed than she had in days. For a long moment she simply basked in that feeling, eyes closed and breath resting easy in her lungs, for once free of fear and sweat and pain.

“I know you’re awake.”

Leia’s blood ran cold.

She opened her eyes turned to see Pale Eyes sitting in the chair beside her. He smiled when he saw her gaze, his blue eyes glittering. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine,” Leia said, suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness beneath the thin hospital sheet.

“Good,” Pale Eyes said. He rose. “Come on now,” he said, and patted his leg as if calling for a dog. “Let’s go.”

“No,” Leia said, scrunching down in the bed. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Pale Eyes laughed. “Yes,” he said simply, “you are.”

In the end he was forced to drag her out of the bed by her ankles. Leia screamed in anger, and reached for his hands with nails extended. She scratched and clawed, and Pale Eyes cursed and threw her to the floor, delivering a sharp kick to her ribs. Leia gasped and curled into a ball, protecting her face and chest.

“Come on,” Pale Eyes snarled, all of the charm and kindness gone from his voice. His hands were bleeding as he grabbed Leia by both her wrists, dragging her upright.

Leia slumped back, dead weight, glaring up at him from her place on the floor.

“Fine,” Pale Eyes said, all sharp vowels and angry consonants. Gripping her by the wrists, his own hands still bleeding, he dragged her from the infirmary and down the hall to the lift, Leia kicking and fighting the whole way.

When they reached her cell a quarter of an hour later, Pale Eyes threw her in with a mighty heave. Leia landed and rolled, coming up on her hands and knees, glaring at him standing in the doorway.

“You hate me,” Pale Eyes said, eyebrows rising in realization. “Don’t you?”

“Don’t touch me,” Leia snarled in reply.

Pale Eyes smiled. “Oh, I’ll do more than touch you,” he said, and walked into the cell, closing the door behind him.

Leia scrambled to her feet, heart pounding in her ears, lungs in her throat. _Danger!_ her mind shrieked, and she trembled from the rush of adrenaline pouring through her. _Get out, get out, get out!_

But there was nowhere for her to run. She looked from side to side, measuring the distance between Pale Eyes and the walls, between herself and the door, though there was no escape through there.

Pale Eye’s smile widened. “Where are you going to go?” he asked as he stalked toward her, seeing her glances. “There’s nowhere for you to go. Nowhere for you to run.”

Leia made a dash for the door. Pale Eyes saw her movement and lunged, grabbing her by the elbow. He lashed out with a foot, catching her around the knees and sending her crashing to the ground. She landed with a grunt of air escaping her chest, then made to scramble back to her feet.

But Pale Eyes was too quick. He appeared above her, shoving a foot onto her chest and pushing her flat on the ground. “Oh no you don’t,” he said, hands reaching for the buckle of his belt. “I have you right where I want you.”

Leia panicked. _No_ , she thought, everything in her shrieking in terror. _No, no, no._

Pale Eyes knelt, grabbing for Leia’s hands as she reached for his eyes to claw them out. Securing them in one hand, he used his other hand to keep her flat on the ground. Leia squirmed, straining against him—but he leaned forward, using his superior height and weight to keep her pinned to the floor.

Leia gasped for air, her terror making her lightheaded. _Please,_ she prayed, then said aloud, “Please, no.”

Pale Eyes just smiled.

He settled over her hips, moving his hand down from her chest to between her legs. He stroked her once, twice, three times. Leia felt her body respond—respond in a way she didn’t know, didn’t understand. It felt good and she hated it, she _hated_ it, but her body betrayed the thundering of her heart and the shrieking of her mind.

“That’s a good girl,” Pale Eyes said, grinning as he lifted his hand to his lips. He licked his fingers, hummed in approval, then reached down to pull down his pants.

He pushed her back so that she was lying flat on the ground, then slid into her with a groan—and everything went white and still. Nothing hurt. There was no more terror, no more anxiety, no more screaming. There was only white silence in Leia’s mind.

Pale Eyes rocked against her, pumping in and out. Beneath the white haze, she could tell that it hurt—could feel the tearing sensation deep within her. But she lay still and unresponsive, for once not fighting. She did not have the energy to fight—and besides, what was the point in fighting? It was happening anyway, in spite of all of her protests. So why should she fight anymore?

_“Leia…”_

Pale Eyes moaned, long and low. And then Leia felt something hot and wet spill inside of her. She shuddered, in spite of the white silence that blanketed her eyes, her ears, her tongue, but then did not move again as Pale Eyes pulled out of her and fastened himself back into his pants.

He leaned forward, cupping Leia’s cheek for a moment. He looked down at her, met her eyes with his, smiled. “The Emperor sends his regards,” he said.

And then he rose and, turning, left, leaving Leia lying alone in a puddle of blood and white, sticky liquid.

_“Leia. Oh, Mother, Leia.”_

Leia did not respond, certain that Luke’s voice was a figment of her imagination, created in her desperation.

_“Leia. Leia! Please, oh Mother, Leia please say something.”_

_“Luke.”_ His name escaped her by accident, drawn out by the desperation in his silent thoughts. She couldn’t ignore him, even if he was just her imagination—had to respond to his silent plea, so steeped in need.

_“Leia. Mother, are you okay?  What happened?”_

Leia stared up at the ceiling of her cell. She felt nothing—nothing but white, and silence that stilled her thoughts and froze her body. She thought she should be angry—angry with herself for conjuring Luke in her desperation when he had betrayed her, angry with Luke for disappearing when she needed him so badly. But she wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even upset. She only felt nothing but white and silence.

 _“Leia?”_ Luke said again. _“What happened?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Leia said, replying in spite of herself. Even if he was just a figment of her imagination, he sounded so desperate that she couldn’t ignore him. _“I don’t know what it was, but it...it…”_ She struggled for the words to describe what had just happened, and failed.

 _“Let me see?”_ Luke asked.

So Leia remembered what had happened—remembered Pale Eyes unbuckling his belt, remembered him spreading her legs, remembered the tearing pain in her core as he pushed into her. She remembered the spill of warm, sticky liquid inside of her.

 _“Oh, Mother,”_ Luke whispered, horrified. _“No. No, I…”_ And then his thoughts grew angry, bruised violet and furious red. _“I’ll kill him. I’ll kill the bastard.”_

 _“It’s okay,”_ Leia said.

And then, all of a sudden, it wasn’t okay. Suddenly everything was bad, and horrifying, and above all, wrong. Suddenly the memory of Pale Eyes pushing her down to the floor, spreading her legs, pushing himself into her made her sick, nauseous and dizzy. She began to shake, tiny tremors of horror and disgust wracking her body.

 _“Oh, Mother,”_ Leia whispered. _“Oh, gods.”_

 _“It’s okay,”_ Luke murmured. He sank deeper into Leia’s mind, curling around her horror and disgust and fear and blanketing them with warmth and comfort and beneath it all, love. _“I’m here, Leia. I’m here.”_

Leia began to cry. _“It’s not okay,”_ she said. _“It...I don’t know what he did to me. But it...it…”_ Again she failed to find the words to describe what had happened. All she knew, though, was that it was wrong and horrible.

 _“I’m here,”_ Luke said.

And suddenly all the anger Leia hadn’t been feeling came rushing in, drying her tears and making her fierce. _“Where were you?”_ she snapped to Luke. _“You say you’re here now, but where were you before when I needed you?”_

 _“I’ve been trying to reach you,”_ Luke said, sounding desperate—desperate for her to hear him, desperate for her to believe him. _“Every day. I tried every single day.”_

 _“So why weren’t you here?”_ Leia asked, accusing.

_“It was like there was this wall around you. Soft and squishy, and sour, but strong. I could touch you, but I couldn’t get in. I mean, there were a couple of times it felt like I did, times when the wall was weak. But most of the time I couldn’t.”_

_“But I needed you,”_ Leia said. _“And you weren’t there. You promised you would be, and you weren’t.”_

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Luke said. _“I swear to you, Leia, I tried.”_

 _“But you didn’t,”_ Leia accused. _“You promised, and you weren’t.”_

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Luke said again. _“I’m so sorry.”_

The anger bled out of Leia, replaced instead with sorrow. _“I needed you,”_ she said, half a whimper.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Luke said for a third time. _“I’m so, so sorry.”_

Leia could feel the truth in his words. They were strong and bright, lacking the slick rot of a lie. Leia knew she should believe him—and she _did_ believe him, though the sorrow and the echoes of anger were still there.

 _“What made you able to reach me today?”_ Leia asked.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Luke said, though he sounded hesitant. _“I...I heard you screaming. And so I tried to reach you, but the wall was still there. But you were still screaming, and screaming, and…”_ Luke choked. _“I heard you. And I kept battering at the wall—and then it broke. It was like it shattered, and suddenly I was able to reach you.”_

 _“Oh,”_ Leia said. Then, _“What do you think the wall was?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Luke said. _“Maybe something that happened to you? The last thing I knew was you getting hit. Everything was dark for a while, and then the wall went up.”_

Leia frowned, thinking. _“Maybe...maybe I was drugged,”_ she said at last, realization dawning. _“The food and water they give me tastes funny.”_

Leia could feel Luke nod slowly. _“Maybe,”_ he said. _“But then how were we able to connect?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Leia said. She smiled. _“Maybe our bond is just too strong.”_

Luke smiled in return. _“Maybe.”_

There was a lull in their conversation, both of them falling silent for a long moment. Then Luke said, _“You should sleep. I can feel you’re tired.”_

 _“I don’t want to sleep,”_ Leia said, suddenly afraid. _“I’ll have nightmares.”_

 _“At least get in bed?”_ Luke said.

Leia sat up slowly. She looked down, and saw the blood and white liquid beneath her, and shuddered. Her shaking, which had eased as she talked to Luke, came rushing back. _“Oh gods,”_ she whispered.

 _“It’s okay,”_ Luke soothed. _“Come on. Let’s get in bed.”_

Leia stood shakily, and crossed to her bed. She laid down, grabbing her spare shirt and snuggling it against her chest.

 _“Thank you,”_ Leia said—and realized that, at some point in the conversation, she had stopped thinking that he was a figment of her imagination and started believing he was real.

 _“For what?”_ Luke said.

_“For coming for me.”_

_“I’ll always come for you,”_ Luke said. _“Always. I promise.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've come to the end of me making deals with you guys for the next chapter, for the simple reason that...it's not done yet. You can probably expect it in the next three to five days though, so keep your eyes out for it then.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, and I hope you'll consider doing it again, even if there isn't any incentive.


	20. Part 2: Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get out, y'all. I won't bother you all with excuses - just know that I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy, and that the chapter can make up for the wait... (or at least that it doesn't disappoint....>.>")

CHAPTER 7

_Twelve days earlier…_

Luke reeled, pain exploding in his head. _“No!”_ he screamed, staggering and falling to his knees.

He bit his tongue to keep from crying out aloud and lifted his hands, stained and streaked with vaporator grease, to his temples. Darkness threatened to overwhelm him—threatened to drag him down into inexorable silence—and Luke frantically pulled out of Leia’s mind. He blinked, and the darkness vanished, replaced by the hot air and hotter sands of the western vaporator field.

She was gone. She was dead. Darth Vader had killed her.

 _I’m gonna kill him._ Luke thought, savage and grief-stricken. _I’m gonna kriffing kill him._ He didn’t know how—didn’t even know how he was going to find Darth Vader, let alone kill him—but in that moment, Luke was certain: he was going to be the end of Darth Vader, one way or another.

“You okay, Luke?” Uncle Owen asked, seeing Luke stumble and turning toward him. He looked concerned, his brows drawn together in a frown, his eyes dark with worry. He took a step toward Luke, extending a hand—to pull Luke up or to pat him reassuringly, Luke didn’t know—but Luke scrambled to his feet before his uncle could reach him.

“Yeah,” Luke said, taking a step away and forced himself to smile, though all he felt like doing was screaming to the sky in agony. “Just a bad headache.”

Uncle Owen grunted, looking unconvinced, but said, “If it gets too bad, tell me and I’ll take you home.”

“I’ll be fine,” Luke said. The pain, born of the strike from Vader’s lightsaber, was already fading, leaving in its wake only grief and aching emptiness.

Luke spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze. Sorrow battered at his heart, his sense of loss so strong it made him sick. He gagged and threw up his lunch behind the fence, hoping that Uncle Owen thought he had just gone to relieve himself. He didn’t want Uncle Owen asking any questions, questions Luke wouldn’t be able to answer.

How could he tell his uncle—his practical, earth-bound uncle—that he was mourning the death of the girl that he had talked to in his head?

Dinner that night was a nauseating affair. Luke choked down his food with a tight throat and a tongue that felt thick and clumsy and numb. He threw up again afterwards, retching miserably into the toilet, gripping the edge with white knuckles. When he was done he sank back with a groan, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand, swallowing heavily.

 _Leia,_ he thought desperately, fighting back tears. _Oh, Leia..._

He continued to swallow back tears until he climbed into bed that night. _I won’t cry,_ Luke told himself. He thought of Leia, and of the last words he had spoken to her. _“I love you,”_ he had said, and, _“I wanted to share my life with you.”_ That he would now never have that chance cut him to the deepest fold of his soul.

A tear slipped from Luke’s eye and trickled down his temple and into his hair.

Suddenly morbidly curious, Luke reached out for their connection. He wondered if it was still there—if it had vanished, or if his half was still shining bright within him.

He found the connection easily enough. It burned gold and brilliant deep within his mind, connecting him to Leia.

_Connecting him to Leia…_

Luke sat bolt upright in bed.

 _“Leia?”_ he called, barely daring to hope.

There was no answer.

But still, the bond shone bright and strong—and Luke could feel Leia on the other side of it. Not the crushing weight of darkness Luke had sensed earlier, not emptiness, not the absence of death, but _her_.

She was alive. _Alive_. Alive, though he could not hear her heartbeat or feel the breath in her lungs. He could not feel her thoughts either, even when he pressed close—and press close he did, heart in his throat, excitement battering at his ribs. He had to see her, had to talk to her, had to know—to _hear_ —that she was alright.

Nothing.

Luke tried again. Again, however, he could not slide into her mind, could not even hear her thoughts. Instead all he felt was something—something soft, something springy, something strong. It was a wall standing between him and Leia, resolutely keeping them apart. When he touched it, a sour taste crept into his mouth and down into his bones.

He threw himself against it with a silent cry, arrowing every thought and emotion he could muster at it. For a second it buckled and bulged—but then it held. Luke tried again, grasping for Leia’s thoughts with formless fingers. His mind slid against the wall as if it was made of glass, keeping him out and away from Leia’s mind.

 _“Leia,”_ Luke shouted, standing at the very edge of the wall. _“Leia!”_

Only silence answered his calls.

Luke fell asleep exhausted both mentally and physically. He had spent the better part of an hour fighting against the wall, pummeling it with as much thought and force as he could conjure. It had remained strong, however, not letting him through.

Luke woke early the next morning, even before his chrono went off. He sat up in bed, hugging his sheets to his chest, and with his heart in his mouth tried again to contact Leia. He hit the same wall—only it seemed thicker and more resilient than it had the night before. Luke bashed himself against it time and time again, seeking to shatter it, break it, even crack it—to no avail.

The day was long and hot. Luke spent as much time pushing against the wall, trying still to press through it, as he did working on the vaporators. His uncle commented twice that he seemed distracted and distant—to which Luke replied simply that he had a lot on his mind.

“Do you still have a headache?” his uncle asked after lunch.

“Yes,” Luke lied, taking the easy way out. “But I’m okay. It’s better than it was yesterday.” After they got home, however, his uncle pressed a couple of pain meds into Luke’s hand with the terse command to take them.

“I want you at full capacity tomorrow,” he said gruffly, trying—and failing—to hide the worry in his face.

Luke swallowed them obediently, though his headache had long ago faded. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and went to find some water to chase down the pills.

That night, when he went to bed, Aunt Beru stayed an extra minute in his room. “How are you feeling?” she asked, smoothing his hair away from his forehead.

“Better,” Luke said, looking up at her.

His aunt smiled. “Good,” she said, and leaned down to press a kiss to his hair. “Your uncle was really worried.”

Luke shrugged. “It was just a headache,” he said.

Aunt Beru shook her head. “He said you’ve been distracted and distant since yesterday.”

“Well I’m feeling much better now,” Luke promised.

“Good,” Aunt Beru said again. “Well, goodnight my little child of the desert,” she said, and stood.

Luke watched her go, then closed his eyes. He was exhausted from the long day, and even before he could throw a javelin of thought at the wall separating him from Leia, he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed.

He was out on the dunes at night, the three moons shining down on him with pale light, gilding the sand in silver. A light breeze rustled around him, lifting his hair and tugging at his shirt with cool fingers.

“Hello Luke.”

Luke whirled at the sound of the soft, feminine voice. And there, standing amid the whispering sands, her shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders, was a woman Luke had only seen in pictures.

“Shmi?” Luke breathed. Then, even softer, “Grandma?”

Shmi opened her arms, smiling through tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Luke flung himself forward and into her arms. She smelled of jasmine and of the desert, dry and cool beneath the pale moons, but she was warm and solid.

She ran her fingers through Luke’s hair, holding him tight. “Oh, Luke,” she breathed, and kissed his head. “I’ve longed for this moment for longer than you would believe.”

Luke hugged her fiercely, then pulled back. “Why now?” he asked.

“Because you needed me now,” Shmi replied.

She knelt in front of him. “Listen to me. You have a long, hard road before you, Luke. But if you travel it with strength and conviction, you will shape the galaxy with your love.”

“My love?” Luke asked, trying not to scoff at the idea. “What can love do?”

“More than you might guess. Trust in that love—and in the love you have for Leia. It will guide you.”

“Okay,” he said, still not sure he understood but not wanting to contradict Shmi again, and buried himself in his grandmother’s arms once more. “Thank you,” he whispered to her, and let her go.

“Trust yourself,” Shmi said, standing. “Trust the love you feel. Be strong and courageous. And be kind.”

And with that she turned and began to walk away.

Something clicked in Luke’s mind. “It was you,” he said, taking a step after her.

Shmi turned back to him, eyebrows raised in silent question.

“When Old Ben severed the connection, and I saw all those things. I saw you, didn’t I?”

Shmi smiled. “You are very astute,” she said softly.

“Why didn’t I recognize you then?”

“The Force plays strange tricks on the mind,” Shmi said, “and on the sight. Perhaps it did not want you to recognize me; perhaps you were not ready to.”

Luke frowned, not sure he understood. “The Force?” he asked. He had never really understood just what the Force was. He hoped, perhaps, Shmi could explain it to him.

“The power that binds this galaxy together. It is part of every living being, both great and small, and for those few whom it chooses, it can become a tool.”

“Like Leia,” Luke said.

Shmi nodded. “Like Leia.”

“Okay,” Luke said. He thought he understood a little better now. He still did not understand how he could have not recognized Shmi for anyone but herself.

“Don’t think on it too hard,” Shmi suggested, smiling at him. “It will just make your head hurt.”

“Okay,” Luke said again, this time grudgingly. “Will I see you again?” he said quickly, as Shmi turned again to go.

“Perhaps,” Shmi replied. “But now I must leave. And you must wake.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Luke began to say—only to be jolted awake by the sound of his chrono going off.

Luke lay in bed for a long minute, staring up at his ceiling shadowed by the red gleam from the face of his chrono. What had Shmi meant when she said he would shape the galaxy with his love, he wondered? What did it mean to trust his love?

What did mean that he had dreamed of his grandmother as if she was alive—his grandmother who had been dead for more than 15 years?

He got up and dressed slowly, thinking. _Trust in my love for Leia,_ Luke thought, remembering Shmi’s words. _But what does that mean? How can that help?_

Breakfast was a quiet affair, Luke eating his oatmeal methodically as he mulled over his dream. His uncle read a news report on the family’s pad, eating absentmindedly. His aunt tried once to get the two of them to engage—but then she gave up and ate in silence as well.

The day out in the fields was long, dry, and hot. Luke continued to consider Shmi’s words, puzzling over them and trying to fit the pieces together in a way that made sense. As the hours grew, however, he became more and more irritated; he did not understand what Shmi had meant.

 _Love can’t do much of anything,_ Luke thought, feeling rebellious in his irritation.

And yet Shmi’s words stayed with him, gnawing at his ribs and at his heart, whispering to him in a language he thought he understood but could not quite hear. It baffled and infuriated him.

He also continued battering at the wall separating him and Leia every spare moment he had—but as always, it held strong and fast and did not break. He came away feeling bloodied and bruised—if thoughts and mind _could_ be bloody and bruised—and tired beyond belief. When he got home just before dinner, it was all Luke could do to climb in the sonic shower to clean up, then collapse into bed.

“Don’t you want to eat?” his aunt asked, coming into his room half an hour later. Luke, already asleep, didn’t answer.

He dreamed he was in the desert. Clouds boiled in the distance, promising a disastrous storm, while above him the twin suns burned. The air was hot and dry, the wind still, the sand sending up shimmering heat waves. Even so, Luke shivered as if cold.

Luke turned, looking around him. Shmi was nowhere in sight—no one was anywhere in sight. There was only him. Him and the heat and the impending storm.

The air trembled around him. Luke turned again, eyes scanning the rising dunes, searching for the disturbance  

As he turned, a gust of wind tore at him, plucking at his hair and shirt and pants and flinging sand into his face. Luke gasped, the wind tearing the breath from his lips, and shaded his face with his hands.

And there, on the wind, came a faint voice. It was soft and feminine, and crying his name—crying it in desperation, in need, in hope.

Luke knew the voice.

“Leia?” he asked, her name falling from his lips unbidden. Then, again, louder, Luke cried, “Leia?”

His want for her, his need for her—his _love_ for her—rose in his chest, burgeoning like a bird flaring its wings between his ribs. He loved her. He _loved_ her, so firmly and fiercely that it stole his breath away. She was his other half, like a twin sister he’d never expected to need so badly; with her he was whole.

Fire erupted in his veins, burning his bones to ash. It hurt even as he exulted in it, the feeling exhilarating and profound. It was the same kind of rush he had felt when he first started contacting Leia, only tenfold.

Turning and squinting, breathless with the rush of the fire which was fading to a simmer in his blood, Luke saw what at first he thought a trick of the desert heat and wind. As he stared, however, the wind still battering his body, the image coalesced and solidified.

There, a dozen feet away from him, stood Leia. She was dressed in an over-large shirt, and her hair was shaved down to her scalp so that only a dark fuzz covered her head. She looked thin and pale, her expression bleak and afraid.

The sight of her ran a shock through Luke’s bones, electric and horrifying. She looked so different from the bright, happy girl of his dreams; where once she had smiled and laughed readily, now she looked gaunt and full of fear. Her hair, too, was a shock. Where before it had always been long and braided in intricate styles, now the skin of her scalp showed through the dark fuzz.

“Leia,” Luke gasped, and started to run toward her.

He hit a wall.

Luke fell back, landing on his butt, the wind knocked out of him. His nose hurt too, though it was not broken or bleeding.

He stood slowly, and reached out a hand. He touched the invisible barrier standing between him and Leia, ran his hand along it. It was soft and springy to the touch, but firm. It would not give, even when Luke  punched it with all his might. It sagged a little at the point of contact, but did not give way, and when Luke pulled his smarting hand back it sprang back into place.

It was the same wall that stood between her and him in his mind.

“Leia!” Luke called. “Leia, can you hear me?”

Around him, the wind picked up. It tore at him, flinging burning sand into his eyes, nose, and mouth. Luke staggered and caught himself, once more lifting a hand to shield his face.

“Leia!” he called.

Thunder boomed. The suns slid behind the boiling clouds, casting the desert into a world of shadow and shade. The wind grabbed at him, pushing and pulling his body as it swept around him, trying to knock him off balance.

“No,” Luke groaned, angling his body into the wind and struggling back towards Leia and the invisible wall standing between them. “Leia,” he cried, grabbing onto fistfuls of the wall and using it to drag himself forward. He pressed himself against the barrier.

For a second Luke thought he was going to make it through. The wall bulged around him as he sank in, in, into it. He stretched a hand out, pushing against it, shoving it deeper and deeper. _I love her!_ Luke shouted, to himself and to the wall standing between them, nearly breathless with emotion. The fire in his roared back to life, filling his fingertips and wrist and chest. _You can’t keep me from her!_

For a split second, Luke thought he felt clear air on his fingertips.

“Leia,” he called, desperate now, hoping that she could hear him—but she remained impassive and still, unheeding and not acknowledging his cries. His feet slid in the sand, carving deep furrows into the earth. He strained, pushed, yearned. The wall buckled—and rebounded, throwing Luke onto his back a dozen feet away.

Luke picked himself up slowly, sore and aching.

It began to rain.

“Leia,” Luke cried. He staggered toward the wall again, ignoring the driving rain. He was soaked to the skin in seconds, his clothes plastered to his body, his hair dripping and clinging to his forehead and neck.

He reached the wall. Pushed against it. Fought it.

But it stood strong. All he succeeded in doing was carving new furrows into the rain-soaked sand and numbing his hands.

“Leia,” Luke half-sobbed, half-gasped, falling to his knees. “Leia!”

The rain continued to fall, lightning cracked, and thunder boomed. But Leia remained silent and unmoving, untouched by the storm.

~oOo~

The next morning, Luke awoke tired and sore. He sat up slowly, blindly smacking at his chrono to stop its incessant beeping, and swung his legs out of bed. He stayed there for a long moment, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

 _What was that?_ he wondered. _Was it real? Or just a dream?_

It didn’t _feel_ like just a dream. Even now he could vividly remember the sensation of the wall around his fingers as he tried to push through it, the rain, the wind. Even now every detail stood out sharp and clear in Luke’s mind.

Luke rose and dressed in the dark, thinking. _If it was real, then what did it mean? And what can I do now?_

He pulled on his boots, lacing them up his calves, then stood to go out to breakfast.

He felt as if the dream was important—as if it was meant to teach him something. But if so, what was he supposed to learn?

Luke was quiet through breakfast: bread pudding in milk. He ate in silence, lost in thought, trying to puzzle his way through the meaning of the dream. He kept running into roadblocks, though. _I wasn’t able to make it through the wall, so it wasn’t a lesson on how to get through. And Leia didn’t hear me, so it wasn’t about reaching her..._

“I need you to work on R6-D9,” Uncle Owen said at the end of breakfast, shaking Luke out of thought. “He’s in dire need of a tuneup.”

“Okay,” Luke said.

“Once you’re done, you can help you aunt around the house.”

“Okay,” Luke said again.

Uncle Owen grunted and stood. “I’ll see you two at dinner.”

Luke went to the garage and made his way to the back where the farm droids spent the night. He spotted Arsix’s green-domed head and threaded his way through the droids, coming to a halt beside the astromech. “Come on, Arsix,” he said. “It’s time for a tune up.”

Ar-six beeped happily and put down his third wheel, following Luke out of the back of the garage and to the workbench. Luke picked up a small wrench and knelt down by Arsix, looking for the bolts to release the front panel so he could access its wiring.

Luke was cleaning dust and sand out of Arsix’s internal computer core when the thought struck him.

“Trust in that love,” Shmi had said, “and in the love you have for Leia. It will guide you.”

And with that memory came realization: Leia had appeared to him in the moment he had recognized, felt, and expressed—to himself, if not aloud—his love for Leia. And when he was fighting against the wall the time he almost made it through, it had been thoughts of Leia, and of his love and need for her, that had urged him on.

Did his love make the wall weaker? Or make their bond stronger?

 _And what even was the wall_? he wondered. It wasn’t anything from him, he was certain—nothing had changed for him. Which meant it was on Leia’s side. But what could cause such a wall to form? Had someone tried to cut their bond from her side? Were they somehow creating the wall using drugs or mind control or something else entirely?

Arsix beeped in consternation.

“Sorry,” Luke said and went back to cleaning it.

That night, Luke was ready to try again. He climbed into bed and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. He took a deep breath.

 _Okay,_ he thought. _Here I go._

He searched for and found their bond. As he expected, when he tried to sink into it he encountered the wall.

He conjured to mind Leia, thinking fiercely, _I love you_ , and pressed against the wall. It sagged—but did not break.

 _I love her_ , Luke thought, fiercer.

The wall wobbled, but held firm.

 _Let me through to her!_ Luke demanded, anger rising in him.

The wall did not give.

 _Damn you!_ Luke screamed and bashed both of his fists against it. It rippled and remained strong.

Luke fell asleep crying—crying out of frustration, out of anger, out of despair. Had he lost her forever? Was she gone for good? Would he never hear her voice or her laughter again? Never feel her smile?

He woke feeling stiff-eyed and stiff-cheeked, the tears dried onto his skin. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he rose, and once he was dressed went into the family’s ‘fresher to wash his face. He stared at himself in the mirror hanging above the sink for a long moment. He looked gaunt and tired, his face red from the water and the scrubbing, his eyes lined with dark shadows.

Luke dried his face and hands and, leaving the ‘fresher, went out to breakfast.

He was back in the east field, cleaning the first row of vaporator vats, when it happened. He was only half paying attention to what he was doing—cleaning the vats did not take much mental exertion—and was thinking once more about Leia.

He missed her with a sharp and painful yearning that made him dizzy and nauseous. What he wouldn’t give just to talk to her one more time, just to hear her laugh, just to feel her smile. What he would not sacrifice for her sake. He _loved_ her, even now—would _always_ love her.

Fire, unknown and strange, like nothing Luke had ever before felt—though now that he felt it, felt as if he had known its taste and touch all his life—trickled into his lungs, his eyes, his mind. Luke felt it slide into him, rise up from a hidden, unknown depth of his soul, taking on the form of flame and shadow, lacing his blood with power untapped.

As much by accident as on purpose, Luke cast a thought at the golden cord of their bond. He sunk through it, struck the wall—and felt it crack.

 _“Leia!”_ Luke called excitedly. _“Leia, can you hear me?”_

For an instant, Luke thought she had. For an instant, he could almost hear her thoughts, her breath, her heart. For an instant, it was like he could read her mind.

Then the wall sealed, leaving Luke alone once more.

But he had done it. He had _done_ it. The wall had been cracked—and that meant it could break.

~oOo~

Luke spent the next two days examining the wall that separated them. He wanted to know what it was—what it was made of, how it responded to various forms of thought, how it reacted to different kinds of attack. The more he knew about it, the better he thought his chance to break it.

What had created it continued to elude Luke, but he did learn some things. He learned that it was not a straight wall, but curved around Leia, blanketing her and hiding her behind it. He learned that it seemed to absorb thoughts born and borne by fire most readily, though it repelled all kinds of thought no matter how fast, hard, or strong those thoughts were.

He also learned that it was not the love in his heart that broke the wall—or at least not his love alone—but rather the cord of light that connected his mind to Leia’s. He had been experimenting with the wall, placing his hands on it and focusing on his love for Leia, feeling the resulting traces of fire creeping through his veins, when he noticed a golden glow burning around him. Looking closer—it was difficult, as he was in the abstract realm of thought, and so everything was both near and far, straight and round—he saw that their bond, which existed all around him, was glowing brighter and brighter, shimmering and shifting like water under wind. Its end vanished beyond the wall—but around the bond were tiny fissures spreading out like roots.

Before Luke could reach out for it, or for Leia, however, the fire in his blood died and the bond returned to normal. He’d lost his concentration.

The love he felt for Leia, he guessed later that afternoon as he picked up his room and dusted the house, strengthened the bond, allowing it to pierce whatever veil had descended over her.

At last, on the first day of the second week, Luke decided he was ready to try to break the wall again.

Luke lay on the garage roof and stared up at the stars coming out one by one. He remembered laying with Leia on the beach the last night they had spent at the house by the lake, remembered her bright voice and bright words.

 _Great Mother Desert_ , he prayed silently, invoking the name his aunt had taught him to use only in the direst of circumstances, _help me._

He closed his eyes.

Conjuring Leia’s image—the image he had seen in the dream—to mind, Luke concentrated on her, and on his love for her. The love that lay always in his heart expanded out, unspooling in his chest like white-hot strands of gold and silver, igniting his veins.

 _I love her,_ Luke thought fiercely—and struck at the wall that stood between them.

It cracked, spiderwebs of fissures spreading out from the point of impact. For a second the wall wavered, the sour taste of it creeping into Luke’s mouth and down into his bones, the invisible barrier buckling. It chipped, small crescents of soft and springy debris raining down the length of the wall.

Luke struck again. The cracks expanded, and Luke reached a hand forward to push against the wall.

He felt her. She was cold and afraid, bound to something hard in a sterile, brightly lit room.

Luke pushed harder.

He felt her heartbeat, felt the warmth of her thoughts trapped beneath her cold skin. He felt the breath in her lungs, the blood in her veins.

He was close. So close.

The wall surged around him, closing over his hand. Luke jerked back instinctively, ripping his hand free of the barrier. He stumbled backward, away from it, holding his hand to his chest. It stung as if it had been burned, and it hurt to flex his fingers.

Their bond shone bright and gold, piercing the wall with its light. But it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough to break the wall. The wall was stronger than him—than it.

So what did he do now?

~oOo~

Luke woke very suddenly, feeling uncomfortable. His back burned, and it was difficult to breathe. He sat up in bed, glanced at his chrono—0256—and groaned.

Eerily wide awake, Luke flopped back down onto his pillow and tried to go back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, however, they opened a few seconds later, his thoughts whirling and his mind shrieking in a voice he did not understand.

Staring up at his red-shadowed ceiling, Luke thought again about the cord connecting him and Leia, and the wall that separated them. What could he do to break it? He had been so close, and yet had failed in the last moment.

The bond needed to be stronger. _Yes,_ Luke thought, _that’s it._ He had to strengthen the bond, make it harder and more poignant.

But how?

Luke sank into his mind, finding the shining cord, and centered all his thoughts on it.

 _How do I make you stronger?_ Luke wondered.

Luke poked and prodded at the cord—gathered thoughts and tried to weave them into it. It was like sewing, he decided; he took a thought and, sinking down into the cord, threaded each one into it, making it thicker and thicker. Painstakingly careful, Luke took ideas of strength and resilience and wrapped the cord with them, making a shield around it.

Luke stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Even as he watched, however, every thought and idea he had tried to add unraveled, sliding off the cord like rain down glass.

Frustrated, Luke groaned.

 _What do I do?_ he asked.

Shmi’s words came to him, creeping along the avenue of memory. “Trust in that love—and in the love you have for Leia. It will guide you.”

But he had done that, and had failed. Hadn’t he?

 _Love strengthens the bond,_ Luke thought. _Maybe...maybe that’s what I have to do._

Luke once more concentrated on the cord binding his mind to Leia’s. It shone, bright and gold, amid his thoughts. He closed his eyes and thought, _I love her._ Instead of using that thought—and the emotion welling up inside of him—to attack the wall, however, he focused on the bond. _I love her,_ he said again—to himself, to Leia, to the bond connecting them. _I love her so much._ Tears gathered in the corners of Luke’s eyes, born of desperate longing and desperate need. _Please._

He sank his thoughts into the bond, sank his emotions, sank the fire gathering in his fingertips. The cord swelled, drinking them in, bloating with Luke’s love and yearning for the sister of his heart. Luke gave it more—and more still. And still it drank, glutting itself.

And then, like a star going supernova, the bond exploded—then shrank, collapsing in on itself, leaving Luke cold and confused. What had happened to it? Where had it gone? In its place was simply darkness—darkness lit suddenly with a warm, red glow.

Luke looked closer. And there, burning hot amid his thoughts, was an ember. Luke touched it—and it was like a door opened before him, through which he could sense Leia’s heart, mind, and very soul. No longer was there a cord he had to travel down; no longer were they connected with a tether. Rather, they simply _were_ : were two halves of a whole, were side-by-side, were together, linked in thought and breath and heartbeat.

The second of this realization seemed to last an eternity—an eternity in which Luke felt Leia’s heartbeat, felt her breath in her lungs, felt her thoughts growing in her mind. For an instant, Luke knew everything she was thinking, everything she was feeling. She was hurt, and she was cold, and she was scared.

And then the wall rose between them once more, cutting Luke off.

But he had glimpsed her. He had felt her.

And their bond—it was stronger than ever before.

~oOo~

Luke spent the next day with half of his thoughts hovering just on the other side of the doorway into Leia’s mind. The wall rose before him, as strong and resolute as ever, and he did not push against it—yet. He wanted time to concentrate, to focus on the breaking of it, not attempt to do it with only half his mind.

The day seemed to drag on forever, but at last Uncle Owen released Luke from his chores. Luke made a beeline for the roof of the garage. It had become his safe space, and the place he went to when I needed to concentrate. He climbed up and settled on the warm shingles, then closed his eyes.

The ember was there. Luke sank through it, falling through the doorway without hesitation. The wall reared up before him, invisible and impenetrable, keeping him from Leia.

 _I’m coming, Leia_ , he thought, and gathered his strength.

It only took a moment for Luke to realize that he did not truly understand the new form their bond had taken. When he tried to integrate his thoughts and feelings into it, they simply slid off, like oil on water. Their bond remained strong—but not strong enough to pierce the veil hanging between them.

Growing frustrated, Luke grabbed fistfuls of the ember and launched himself at the wall, battering at it with hand and foot. It buckled, cracked—and Luke felt a wash of horror, disgust, and fear.

 _“Leia,”_ Luke gasped. _“Leia, I’m here. What’s going on?”_ But the wall had already reformed around his hands. Luke jerked back, pulling them free and releasing his grip on the ember.

It had worked—sort of. He knew for sure now that the ember of their bond was the answer to the problem. He just didn’t know how to use that ember—yet.

~oOo~

By sunset the next day, Luke was exhausted. He had spent all day in the fields with Uncle Owen, who had gotten onto him for slacking off and being distracted. The truth of the matter was that Luke had spent most of the day examining the ember closely, poking and prodding at it, learning all that he could.

It was a doorway, as he had guessed before, opening directly into Leia’s mind. No longer was there an avenue down which he had to travel to reach her; no longer was there anything between them, save the wall that stood in their way. Once it was gone, Luke suspected, they would be able to trade thoughts and feelings as easily and naturally as breathing.

First, though, he had to figure out how to get rid of the wall.

He was going in to wash his hands for dinner when he felt it: the wall bulged and buckled, tiny flakes of it peeling off. Luke flung himself through the ember doorway, already partway open, reaching for the wall standing between him and Leia even before he was all the way through.

 _“Leia!”_ he cried.

For a second he thought he heard her—heard her call his name, heard her beg him to come to her. _“I’m here, Leia,”_ Luke said, ramming into the wall. It shivered and shook at the impact, but did not give.

 _Come on, dammit,_ he thought desperately.

He reached back, tried to grab onto the ember and pull it forward. Fistfuls of it came away in his grasp and, though he had tried before and failed, he punched at the wall with it. The wall trembled and held.

“No!” Luke yelled aloud, slamming his clenched fists onto the sink.

A long moment passed in which Luke clutched the edge of the sink and fought back tears. He had been close—so _close_ , dammit. He had even heard her somehow. And yet the wall had confounded him one more time.

“Luke? Luke, are you okay?” his aunt called through the door, sounding worried.

“I’m fine,” Luke lied. “I just dropped something.”

“Okay,” Aunt Beru said, sounding uncertain. “Hurry up and finish. Dinner’s getting cold.”

After dinner, Luke spent a long time standing out in the courtyard, thinking.

Unlike the cord, the ember did not seem to pierce the wall. It merely existed, a doorway between minds. Yet he was convinced that the ember was the key to conquering the wall. It was the natural progression of the cord—had become what it was when Luke fed it all the love and need and fire he could. Which meant it was better than the cord—right?

It had to be.

So how did he use it?

He explored it more that night before drifting off to sleep, running his thoughts around the ember, gauging and measuring every centim of it. It burned with an inner light, illuminating the darkness that had once been filled with glowing gold, though it was cool to the touch. At even the slightest touch of his mind, the ember opened its doorway—a doorway Luke knew, _knew_ with the marrow in his bones and the blood in his veins, was supposed to be to Leia’s mind.

Luke tried feeding the ember his feelings, emotions, and fire just as he had before. They ran off its surface, spilling and pooling around Luke’s ankles.

 _Come on,_ Luke thought, grabbing onto the ember once more to drag it through the doorway. The ember, which _was_ the doorway, did not budge but for the two tiny pieces that broke off in Luke’s hands.

Luke woke tired and heartsore the next morning. It was a struggle to drag himself out of bed and out to breakfast, and even more of a struggle to make himself follow Uncle Owen out to the landspeeder.

“Are you feeling okay, Luke?” Uncle Owen asked halfway through the morning. “You look sick.”

“I’m fine,” Luke said. “Just tired.”

The next day was even worse. Luke had slept only fitfully, plagued by dreams of the ember standing open but unmoving while Leia screamed on the other side of the wall.

“Are you sure you’re feeling fine?” Uncle Owen asked in the landspeeder on the way out to the fields.

Luke shrugged. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

The day passed in a haze of exhaustion for Luke. He helped his uncle with the vaporators, ate lunch robotically, and fell asleep in the sonic shower. He dreamed again of Leia screaming on the other side of the wall, jolting awake so hard that he bumped his head on the shower door. He climbed out massaging his scalp and wondering what had made her scream.

He went to bed early that night. Frustrated with the ember and wanting, more than anything, to get a good night’s sleep, he burrowed into his bed as soon as dinner was done. His aunt came in just as he was falling asleep and perched on the edge of his bed. Running her fingers through his hair, she hummed a gentle lullaby Luke hadn’t heard in years. He fell asleep to the sound of his aunt’s husky voice.

He awoke two hours later as sharply as if someone had screamed in his ear. His eyes snapped open to the darkness and silence of his room—but still he remained convinced that someone had screamed.

Luke blinked and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was going crazy—this whole thing was driving him crazy. First he was unable to sleep, now this…

He heard the scream again. The bottom of his stomach fell away, and he felt as if he was falling.

“Leia,” he gasped aloud, and almost before he new what he was doing he had sunk through the ember and to the edge of the wall, placing hands of thought against it and shoving. _“Leia!”_ he yelled—only to be drowned out by another terrified scream.

He had to reach her. He had to get to her _now_.

 _Come_ on, he begged the ember, turning back in the doorway to grab at it in desperation. _Punch through it._

But the ember remained still and resolute, unmoving.

Leia screamed again, this time shrill and pained.

Fire rose in Luke’s chest, opening, unfolding. It strained against him, filled his body until his skin felt paper-thin and about to tear. It was all the power of the stars, all the strength of the worlds orbiting them, all the vastness of space beyond. It was life, it was death, it was eternity.

Luke stretched out his hands and placed them against the wall.

The fire roared out of his fingertips, blue and bright. It splashed against the wall, rose up, up, up until it dwarfed it, spilling over the top and down the other sides. The wall writhed—bubbled, boiled, and finally buckled.

In that moment, Luke understood. The bond itself had not been what had fractured the wall—it was the fire that had coursed down it, like electricity along a metal plate. It was the flames thater given mind to that had fractured and split the wall, made it buckle and break.

But now—now he gave the flames ripping through him free rein.

The wall burned. Flakes of ash drifted free of it, filling the ember doorway with grey. Luke stood still amid it, unfazed and untouched, watching the fire.

The wall, however, did not burn away. It merely burned.

 _What now?_ Luke thought, trying not to despair. If even this had not worked, then what could he do against it? What could he possibly do that he had not already tried.

Leia screamed a fourth time, this time thin and weak.

Luke stepped forward, frantic and out of options. Lifting a hand, he struck at the wall—and felt his hand pass through it. Shocked, Luke took an involuntary step back. Then his mind caught up.

He stepped forward, putting out his hand once more. It passed through the flames, and through the wall as if the wall was nothing more than paper.

Taking a breath, Luke stepped through.

Her terror, horror, and pain slammed into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. His eyes swam and he staggered, barely able to withstand the weight of the emotions suddenly assaulting him. He caught glimpses, fragments of sight and sensation: hands on their thighs, pain between their legs, a man with pale eyes and dark hair.

 _“Leia,”_ Luke gasped, fear and realization pouring through him. _“Oh, Mother, Leia.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter was a little bit different (i.e. a bit more abstract). I hope it wasn't too confusing or confounding - and if it was, I hope you'll say something so I can know to go back and rework it some more. (My betas said it was fine? But I'm still anxious. lol) Regardless, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of the chapter - so hit that "comment" button!


	21. Part 2: Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to get up. I've been fighting massive writer's block, and I also moved states last weekend, so I've been *super* busy. I hope I didn't lose all y'all's interest because of that... Regardless, I hope those of you who are reading enjoy this chapter!

CHAPTER 8

Leia dreamed.

She stood on a vast plain. Tall grass grew from the earth, wavering in the storm-bred wind, whispering secrets in a language Leia knew but could not understand. Lightning flashed and thunder tolled, shaking the ground and air, and rain poured from the storm-clad heavens, soaking Leia hand and foot, plastering her long hair, hanging around her shoulders and down her back, to her skin.

The soil underfoot was hard metal—metal sheets of durasteel and iron soldered together so that the light, which burned beneath it, could not escape, even through the seams—but the grass was soft and gentle against Leia’s hands and feet.

Instinctively, the knowledge born of long familiarity and fear—fear of touching, fear of using—Leia knew what the light that tried to escape was: the Force, burning bright and hot within her.

Lightning struck the ground. Leia jerked and spun in time to watch clods of grass and burning metal spray into the air. She ducked, lifting a hand to her face in needless protection. Light poured forth out of the jagged wound—only for it to be battered down by the rain, driven back beneath the already-reforming metal shield.

Leia took a step forward. The ground was knitting itself back together, metal growing like living roots, meeting in the middle and merging together. The light that poured forth hissed and spat like flames under water as raindrops spattered onto it, falling between the bands of growing metal to quench the fire burning there. Leia looked down at it, and wondered—wondered at this power buried deep within her, buried beneath this plain of grass and steel; wondered at the light of it, and the warmth; wondered at the potential for destruction she harbored in her soul.

 _I don’t want this,_ she thought, and turned away. _I never wanted this. I hate it. I hate it so much. Why did the Mother give this to me?_

Still the rain fell, watering the grass and strengthening the iron, quelling the light wherever it escaped—where the lightning struck, where the wind tore, where the grass died—until the bands of durasteel could grow back over and silence it once more.

 _Gods_ , Leia prayed, _take this from me._

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Leia felt it in her bones.

And there—on the wind, whispered in the grass, echoed in the iron underfoot, in the flames embedded in the earth beneath—Leia heard a voice, speaking in the language she knew and could suddenly understand.

 _A gift,_ it whispered. _A gift, a gift, a gift..._

_Use it wisely, oh Child of the Force. Use it wisely…_

Leia woke.

~oOo~

Luke’s voice was the first thing Leia heard. _“How did you sleep?”_ he asked, suddenly warm and bright and bearing with him the taste of sand and blue sky.

Leia, shocked, answered automatically. _“Fine,”_ she said, hugging the spare shirt to her chest. Then, _“You’re still here.”_ There was surprise in her thoughts—genuine shock at Luke’s presence.

 _“I said I was going to be here for you,”_ Luke said. _“I meant it.”_

 _“But you…you’re really here,”_ Leia said, still sounding surprised.

 _“Well, yeah,”_ Luke said, confused.

 _“I thought I made you up,”_ Leia said softly—and with that came a rush of memory: Pale Eyes on top of her, inside of her, pumping against the cradle of her legs. Leia shuddered and curled into a tight ball, wedging herself into the wall’s corner. The cot’s mattress was soft beneath her, a sharp contrast to the hardness of the floor when Pale Eyes had attacked her—and for that Leia was grateful. It was a solid reminder that she was here, now, not still trapped beneath Pale Eyes’ weight.

Yet still she could feel him—could feel his weight, his hands, him in her. She could see his eyes, pale and bright and demanding. She could smell him: sandalwood and spice. She could hear him grunting.

 _No,_ she thought, covering her ears with her hands. _Please, no._ Her breath came in panting gasps, shallow in her lungs and sharp in her throat. She hurt between her hips and inside her chest. Fear swallowed her thoughts, turning everything a shade of white and black and stealing away all cognition but an endless cycle of memory. _Please,_ Leia begged silently to any god listening.

 _“Leia?”_ Luke’s thoughts broke through the memories, grabbing Leia’s mind and wrenching it out of the past and into the presence. _“Leia, are you alright? Talk to me. What’s happening? I can feel your fear, and you—”_

 _“I can’t get him out of my head,”_ Leia sobbed, curling even tighter into a ball, cradling her head between her elbows. _“He’s there, and what he did, and…and…”_ She gasped, trying to find the words for it and failing.

 _“Hey,”_ Luke said quickly. _“It’s okay. It’s okay, Leia. You’re safe now. He’s gone. He’s not hurting you. You’re alone. Well, except for me, and I’ll never hurt you. Ever. I promise.”_

 _“I don’t even know what he did to me,”_ Leia said miserably. _“I don’t… Why am I so scared and hurt?”_

 _“I…I know what he did,”_ Luke told Leia hesitantly. _“Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen told me about it. I saw something happen in Mos Eisley once, and asked about it, and they explained it to me. If you want to know, I can tell you.”_

 _“What happened in Mos Eisley?”_ Leia asked.

_“There was a slave auction one day when we were there. I asked why there were so many men buying girls. It didn’t make sense to me. I mean, I knew all about slavery already. You can’t live on Tatooine and not know about slavery. But that seemed weird..”_

_“Why were they buying the girls?_

_“To have sex with them. Or at least that’s why some of them were buying them.”_

_“I’ve heard about sex,”_ Leia said slowly, calming now that she had something other than her memories to think about. _“Mamá and Papá said it was something that happens between two people who love each other very much. They said they’d explain it more to me once I was a little bit older. But then…”_ She trailed off, her thoughts spiraling into sorrow at the thought of her dead mother and father.

 _“It doesn’t always happen between people who love each other,”_ Luke said quickly, trying to distract Leia from her train of thought.

 _“It doesn’t?”_ Leia asked.

_“No. It can happen between anyone. But when one of the people having the sex don’t want to, it’s called rape.”_

_“Rape,”_ Leia repeated, trying out the word.

_“Yeah. That…that’s what happened to you last night.”_

Leia was silent for a very long time. Then, finally, she said, _“Oh.”_

 _“Are you okay?”_ Luke asked.

 _“No,”_ Leia said. _“I...I don't think I am.”_

~oOo~

Leia spent the rest of the day curled into the corner made by the walls and her cot. Luke remained with her, a warm and stalwart voice speaking to her in the darkness of her thoughts and her fears, distracting her with anecdotes about his life—how Biggs had taken him back to Devil’s Canyon and allowed him to fly the skyhopper, how he had found a krayt skeleton out in the dunes beyond the north field, how his aunt and uncle had gotten into a fight earlier that week.

Leia remained mostly silent, simply basking in Luke’s calming and soothing presence. Every so often, however, she would remember—would remember Pale Eyes’ weight, his touch, his eyes. She would shudder then, and curl tighter into a ball, a sick, heavy feeling in her stomach that made her want to throw up.

When her daily food came, Leia glanced at the door and at the droid arm poking through the slot at the bottom. She did not, however, rise. The smell of the food—thick porridge swimming with chunks of ill-colored meat—made her nausea worse. She gagged and then dry heaved, bringing up only sour spittle that she swallowed back down. It burned her throat.

She slept some, desperate to escape the sick, heavy feeling in her stomach. It spread tendrils of sickness out into her chest, into her throat, into her head, until all she felt was miserable pain and fear and desperation.

 _“What if he comes back?”_ Leia asked Luke that afternoon.

 _“Then I’ll be with you,”_ Luke said.

Leia wasn’t sure she wanted Luke with her then though—wasn’t sure she wanted him to bear witness to what had happened between her and Pale Eyes. Part of it was that she wanted to protect him—wanted to save him from the experience, the pain, the terror, the disgust, wanted to keep him from this thing that was worse yet than anything she had suffered before—but mostly it was that she was ashamed. She was ashamed of the pain, and of the terror, and of the disgust, but mostly she was ashamed of herself.

 _I should have fought harder,_ Leia thought. _If only I had done something different, it never would have happened._

That she could not figure out what she could have done differently—what she could have done to protect herself and keep Pale Eyes from hurting her—did not help.

A thought came to her, lying on the cot with her back pressed against the walls, knees drawn up to her chest. She did not want Luke coming to her—did not want him to experience what she was experiencing, suffering—but that did not mean that Leia couldn’t go to Luke.

She had tried to sink into him right after the throne room and Vader’s attack, when she was in the speeder on her way to this new hell. She had not succeeded. As always she could touch their bond, but she could not sink through it; there had been a wall there, preventing her from going into his mind.

 _But now Luke is back_ , Leia thought. _He said there was a wall that he couldn’t get through, but now he can. And our bond is different now, like an ember, not a cord. So maybe...maybe I can make it through now?_

She tried.

She sank down into her mind, finding their bond in a second. It burned bright and brilliant amid her thoughts, an ember in shadows. She pressed against it—and for an instant, a heartbeat, a breath, she thought she was going to make it through. The ember opened before her, a doorway into Luke’s mind. She could see the brightness of the sky, could taste the heat of the desert, could hear the grind of the vaporators churning—and then fear, unexpected and surprising, rose in her throat, choking her breath and her mouth and her heart, and the doorway crashed closed around her.

Leia whimpered and curled into a tighter ball.

Why was she afraid? What was she afraid of? She loved Luke and she trusted him implicitly—she trusted him more than anyone, even more than the memory of her mother and father. So why? Why was she afraid of him?

Had she always been afraid of this? Of going into Luke’s mind?

A new thought struck her: Was this why she had been unable to sink into his thoughts? Was her fear a barrier, keeping her out?

She didn’t know, and she had no way of finding an answer to her questions. Not yet. Not now.

She drifted off to sleep, still hugging the spare shirt in her arms, the air cold against the bare skin of her shoulders and hips.

Leia opened her eyes to the plain. Thunder rumbled overhead and lightning flashed in and between the clouds. Wind gushed around her, tearing at the grasses and sending them waving, tugging at Leia’s simple dress.

Beneath her feet, the durasteel burned. It glowed with red-hot power, the light seeping through the stalks of grass and into the sky. Leia shifted her feet back and forth, looking down and expecting to be burned—only she wasn’t.

 _A gift_ , the wind sighed. _A gift, oh Child of the Desert._

Leia gathered her strength. “I don’t want this gift,” she shouted to the heavens, to the thunder, to the wind. “Take it back!”

 _A gift,_ the wind whispered. _Use it well._

Lightning lanced down from the sky, striking Leia. She screamed as it seared through her, cutting down the avenues of her bones to connect with the ground underneath her feet. The durasteel groaned and buckled, then opened with a reverberating _crunch_. Leia fell.

The power of the Force opened up around Leia, embracing her and drawing her down, down, down. Leia gasped and struggled, fighting the inexorable pull of gravity and the Force, clawing at the light in a fragile, useless attempt to drag herself back to the surface.

 _A gift!_ the light screamed around her, striking her ears and mind and tongue until she was forced to swallow it, to drink of it, to devour it.

 _No!_ she tried to shout in reply. _Take it back! I don’t want it!_

Still she fell.

Still the light embraced her.

Overhead, the light hissed as rain fell upon it. Leia felt it fall onto her upturned face, running down her cheeks like tears. It was cool and tangible, gentle like spring and soft like summer. Wherever the rain touched, the light of the Force flickered and dimmed, quelled and quashed by the water.

Yet beneath Leia, the Force yawned wide and open, a mouth made of a single ember. Leia screamed and scrabbled for the edge of the doorway, fighting to keep from falling through it. Her fingers slid through empty space and emptier light, and she tumbled in.

She was in a field of vaporators, the achingly blue sky of a desert stretching overhead. Two suns beat down on her head, shielded by a broad-brimmed hat pulled down over her forehead. Her hands were buried in the guts of one vaporator, a toolbox at her feet, a droid tootling behind her.

“Uncle Owen?” her voice called—but it wasn’t her voice, it was _Luke’s_ voice.

Fear rose like bile in Leia’s throat, spilling into her mouth and down her chin. She choked on it, drowned in it, until all there was was fear and a bone-deep terror.

There were no more barriers—no more walls hiding her thoughts, hiding her emotions, hiding her secrets. She was as bare before Luke as if she was naked in front of him. They were one—truly, wholly, inseparably one. There was no going back from this; his thoughts were her thoughts, her emotions his emotions.

Leia didn’t care that it felt _right_. She didn’t care that it felt as if her soul, made complete by Luke’s presence in her mind, felt whole with her in his. She didn’t care that, beneath the terror and the horror, was joy—unfolding, inflating joy that stole her breath away. She didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care….

Leia woke, scrabbling for purchase in consciousness, crying weakly.

 _“Leia?”_ Luke called, falling into her mind with all the grace of a gundark. _“Leia, are you alright? What’s wrong?”_

 _“You mean you didn’t feel me?”_ she asked.

 _“Feel you?”_ Luke asked, confused. _“Feel you where?”_

Did that mean she hadn’t actually been in Luke’s mind? Had it just been a trick of her dreams? Of the Force?

Regardless, now at least she understood the fear—the fear that perhaps was the thing keeping her out of Luke’s mind.

Did she even want to fight that fear, though? She wondered. Did she want to go into Luke’s mind enough to battle the fear, to conquer and defeat it? Did the yearning she felt, in spite of herself, to be whole, outweigh the fear of her nakedness before him? Or was she comfortable with how things were now, with Luke in her mind and in her heart, but their souls still remaining separate?

A new thought came to Leia. Or was the rain, which quieted the burn of the Force—the rain that Leia herself had instigated, that she herself bade fall—was that what kept her from going into Luke’s mind? Did the rain soften her gift—her _curse_ —enough that she was unable to pass through the doorway?

Leia chewed on her bottom lip. Did it really matter what the reason was? Regardless, she wasn’t able to go into Luke’s mind—and suddenly she wasn’t sure if she wanted to. Because, regardless of the reason she was unable to fall into Luke’s mind, the truth remained that she _was_ afraid of Luke, and of the whole that they would become if Leia merged her mind with his.

 _“Leia?”_ Luke asked, sounding concerned. _“Is everything okay?”_

 _“Yeah,”_ Leia said hurriedly, shutting her thoughts off from Luke. _“I was just...thinking.”_

 _“Okay,”_ said Luke slowly. Leia wasn’t sure he believed her—but then, she wasn’t sure she would believe her either.

The night passed long and slow. Leia spent most of it awake, dreading the plain and the pull of the Force that she was sure would greet her as soon as she slipped into unconsciousness. Luke remained awake with her as long as he could, but after midnight—or at least midnight for Luke—he fell asleep, exhausted from the day’s work in the fields. So Leia remained awake, alone and afraid with her thoughts and memories, shuddering and shaking in her ball in the corner.

 _This shouldn’t bother me this much,_ she told herself, again and again. _So what if it’s called rape? It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t. Worse things happened to me._

Yet, no matter how many times she told herself that, the awful, niggling, worming feeling of sick dread and disgust ate at her like a dog gnawing at a bone. It would not leave her, would not let her sit comfortably. She was afraid of being naked, but afraid of being without the comfort of the shirt cradled in her arms. She was terrified of every scuff at the door, every sound of voices through the thick durasteel. What if it was Pale Eyes coming back? What if it was someone else coming to do the same thing?

Luke woke early—earlier than usual—and went for a walk. Neither his aunt nor his uncle were up—and neither were either of the twin suns. Only the faintest smudge of light on the horizon heralded the coming dawn, and the stars remained burning bright in the inky darkness of the sky overhead. Luke sent her pictures of what he saw, images and flashes of feeling and emotion: joy, peace, contentment, awe.

 _“It’s beautiful,”_ Leia sighed—and wondered again if she dared risk everything to be able to join Luke there in that moment.

 _“It is,”_ Luke agreed, turning in a slow, lazy circle, taking in the pre-dawn shadows, the stars, the moons hanging on the lip of the world.

 _“I…I wish I was there,”_ Leia said slowly, fighting a silent battle within herself. She wanted—more than wanted: yearned, _needed_ —to be with him. She wanted to be whole. She wanted to be complete. She wanted to be one.

Yet the fear remained, bone-deep and all-consuming, confining, constricting. She couldn’t breathe through it, couldn’t feel her heartbeat over the rush of blood in her ears, couldn’t keep from spitting bile between her teeth at the thought of joining Luke, of letting him know her completely, be part of her.

This—this was enough, wasn’t it?

Luke walked out to the vaporators in the northern field, slipping through the gate and into the long rows of white-gleaming machinery. They seemed to glow with an other-worldly light, like porcelain, like marble, like bone. The air was cold against his face and hands—he sent the sensation of the desert’s night breeze to Leia, who had not felt the wind except through Luke for years—and the scent of it was sharp and clear. There were mushrooms on the vaporators, Luke showed her, yellow and green and red.

Movement.

Luke stiffened. Leia could feel his thoughts tensing in her mind, his attention drawn away from her. His thoughts spiked with alarm, with fear chased by terror, by horror.

More movement. Luke’s thoughts jostled in Leia’s mind, as if he was running and they were bouncing back and forth inside his skull. She felt his fear, felt the sharp edge of it in the corners of his thoughts, felt the tinge of red creep into her mind from him.

 _“Luke?”_ Leia called, reaching for him. _“Luke, what’s going on?”_

Only silence answered her queries.

~oOo~

Luke woke to the feeling of sand beneath his back, head pounding, eyes aching. He blinked groggily and tried to sit up—only to be forced back down onto the sand by the end of a gaffi stick. He flopped back gracelessly, vision swimming, shadows crawling in from the corners of his eyes. For a long second he battled them, fighting them back into the corners of his vision, swatting them away. Yet inexorably they rose, like black wings of death, and stole his sight.

His head lolled to one side as consciousness fled, leaving him limp and at the mercy of the Tusken Raider that had struck him down.

When he woke again, it was to the feeling of cold metal around his wrists and the gentle sway of movement. He opened his eyes blearily, blinking once, twice, three times against the light of Tatooine’s twin suns beating mercilessly down onto the sands of the desert, bright even though he was turned away from the sky.

Lifting his head, Luke spat out a mouthful of terse, thick hair. It tasted and smelled of bantha, strong and musky and full of the desert: dry, hot, and sandy. The scent of it filled his nose and mouth, clogging his throat and creeping down into his lungs. He wondered how long he had been lying with his face pressed against the bantha’s hide; he wondered if he wanted to know.

The ground passed dizzily away beneath him. Luke caught one glimpse of it, then quickly shut his eyes. The sand was moving quickly under the bantha’s four feet, slipping away as if it was a rug being pulled out from under it.

_Leia._

The thought struck Luke like a load of bricks. The last thing he remembered was her screaming, calling out to him in desperation. Then—nothing.

 _“Leia?”_ he called, hopeful and needy. He was afraid, though he was trying to hide it, even from himself—afraid of what had happened, afraid of what was going to happen. He remembered his uncle’s stories about his grandmother—about how she had been taken and tortured by the Raiders, about how Clieg and their neighbors had gone out after her, about how all but Clieg had died, stripped to muscle and bone by razor wire and death traps laid by the Raiders.

Was that going to happen to him as well? Was he going to be tortured to death, with all his family and friends killed in an attempt to rescue him?

 _“Luke.”_ Leia’s silent voice was filled with such profound relief that Luke could not help but tear up.

 _She cares,_ he thought. _She really cares_. Not that he had doubted that, but to hear her so relieved and so glad, in the midst of his terror was enough to make tears well up in the corners of his eyes. _I’m not alone_ , he told himself, and it was as if he had drawn in a deep breath of fresh, clean air after going for hours without. _I’m not alone…_

 _“Luke, what happened?”_ Leia asked. There was fear in her silent voice, and uncertainty—fear and uncertainty for him.

 _“Tusken Raiders,”_ Luke told her, and sent an image of the one that had stood over him when he had awoken the first time. With it he channeled a sense of fear, of disgust, of the stories he had been told as a child as warnings against straying too far from the farm. _“They’re the ones that killed my grandma,”_ he added softly.

Warmth flooded through their connection and Luke basked in it. It was soothing, calming, a balm against the fear eating away at his ribs and at his heart, creeping up his throat as bile, sinking into his stomach as hot acid. It felt, in that moment, as if he could face whatever was coming to him—could face it, so long as Leia was with him.

There came a jolt, and then the bantha beneath Luke stopped moving.

 _“Luke?”_ Leia asked, sensing the spike of fear that raced through him, edging his thoughts with ice and iron. _“What’s going on?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Luke replied. _“We’ve stopped, but—”_

Luke was cut off as a hand fastened in his hair and yanked. He slid off of the bantha with a surprised cry, landing on hard-packed sand with a grunt of air forced from his lips. He struggled, fighting air and chains and sand, until he was struck over the head with the end of a gaffi stick. He fell still, dazed and aching, until he was pulled upright with a hand in the front of his shirt.

He was in a Tusken camp. Hide tents were clumped together before him—he counted twelve at a glance—while off to the left was a fenced-in area for the tribe’s banthas. A cluster of Tuskens stood before him, male and female and small children with heads cocked to one side, gazing at him from behind goggles and masks.

Luke gulped and twisted in the Raider’s hold. “Let go of me,” he grunted, and lifted shackled hands to pry at the fingers knotted in the front of his shirt.

The Raider laughed and released him. Luke fell the three feet to the ground and landed with a thud and a grunt, numbed legs buckling beneath him.

 _“Luke!”_ Leia cried, feeling his pain through their bond.

 _“I’m fine,”_ Luke reassured her quickly. _“I’m just—”_

“You will make a pretty slave for the Hutts,” said the Raider standing over him. His voice was rough, gravel and stone, the Basic words warped and twisted in his hard Tusken accent. He laughed again, and the rest of the tribe joined with him. “You will bring us good money.” Then the Raider bent down and, seizing Luke by the chain connecting his shackles, dragged him into the cluster of tents.

Luke was brought to the tent at the very center of the tribe. The Raider dragging him threw him through the open doorway, then followed him in. Luke scrambled to regain his feet, but only made it to his knees before the Tusken was on him again. Grabbing the chain again, the Tusken lifted his hands over his head, then fastened them to a bar overhead.

“I have brought you a friend,” the Tusken said to someone to Luke’s left. “Be nice.”

Luke turned his head and found himself staring into the bright green eyes of a girl a few years younger than him. Her red hair was a cloud around her head, cut short to her shoulders. She was clad in a simple dress, clearly homespun, with a pattern of blue triangles ornamenting the bottom hem.

Turning, Luke watched the Tusken leave the tent, and then looked back at the girl.

“Hi,” he said, careful and uncertain.

“Hi,” she replied, equally careful, equally uncertain.

“I’m Luke. Who are you?”

“Talia,” the girl said.

“How long have you been here, Talia?” Luke asked.

“Dunno,” said the girl. “They fed me three times, but I don’t think they do that every day.”

Luke frowned. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.”

 _“What’s going on?”_ The thought came to Luke as if from a distance, just as it always did when Leia spoke to him first. His mind was still connected to hers, allowing them to talk—though he was not fully in her thoughts, limiting what they could share.

 _“There’s another girl here,”_ Luke told Leia. _“Her name is Talia.”_ He sent her a picture of the girl, and the sound of her voice.

 _“What do they want with you?”_ Leia asked, her words accompanied with the image of the Tusken Raider.

Luke pulled to mind the memory of the Raider speaking to him—telling him he would be a pretty slave for the Hutts—and sent it to Leia. He felt her shudder, her thoughts shivering against his, and Luke sank into her mind with a soothing note of calm. He could feel her fear, could feel her distress—she was afraid for him, memories surging up, up, upwards in her mind until she choked on them.

 _“It’ll be okay,”_ Luke said, sounding more confident than he felt. _“I’ll escape. Or…or something.”_

_“Luke…”_

_“What?”_

_“It’s not that easy.”_

_“I…I know. But I have to try. I can’t let my family die for me.”_ His words were heavy, his tone hard.

There was a beat of silence. Then, _“I’ll help you then,”_ said Leia. _“Whatever you need, I’ll help you.”_

 _“Thanks,”_ said Luke, meaning it more than he could tell her.

He came back to the tent, to the chains, to the hot, hot air. Talia was staring at him, her eyes wide, her expression confused and alarmed.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Luke, frowning. “Why?”

“I dunno,” said Talia. “You just looked…far away.”

Luke smiled at her. “I’m okay,” he promised. “I was just thinking.” It wasn’t technically a lie; he _had_ been thinking, just thinking at someone else rather than to himself.

Talia shifted—and Luke realized, for the first time, that she was stretched up onto her tip-toes. While Luke was able to stand with his hands uncomfortably stretched above his head, Talia was shorter than him, and was drawn up onto her toes in order to reach the bar. Luke’s stomach clenched, and something dark and hot rose in his stomach and into his lungs, choking him.

 _“Luke, are you okay?”_ Leia asked, feeling the rise of emotion.

 _“I’m fine,”_ said Luke, hard, with words made of iron. _“I just…”_

Talia looked at him, small and afraid, uncertain and with pain in her eyes. The dark feeling swallowed Luke’s throat and rose into his mouth like tar, until he was drinking of it, breathing of it, living with it in his lungs and heart and eyes.

 _I have to protect her,_ Luke thought, loud and fierce. The tar roared in exultation.

 _“What did you say?”_ Leia asked.

Had Leia heard—or almost heard—his thought?

 _“I thought that I have to protect her,”_ Luke said, and once more showed Leia the sight of Talia standing stretched up to the bar. _“I have to get her out. She’s just a little kid…”_

 _“We’ll get her out,”_ Leia said. _“We’ll get both of you out. We will.”_

She thought something else—something loud and fierce. Luke felt the thought against his mind, brazen and bold, like copper and steel and gold. He could not, however, quite make out what it was Leia had thought.

It was Luke’s turn to ask, _“What?”_

Leia was surprised. Luke could feel it in her, sharp and subtle, like a needle.

_“I was thinking that I’ll be with you through it all—good or bad. And I’ll help you all that I can.”_

_“Thank you,”_ Luke said again. _“Now we just have to figure out a plan to escape.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? Love it? Hate it? Let me know! :) 
> 
> (And, if you're so inclined, maybe lend me some encouragement, as I'm still fighting writer's block, and am struggling with a lot of things in my personal life right now (depression, anxiety, PTSD stuff...)? All of which to say this is my refuge, and so to get some good feedback would really encourage me and brighten my day... Only if you want to, of course. I don't mean this as a bribe or anything...)


	22. Part 2: Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who got out of her writing slump? It me!
> 
> Thank you so, so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter. It really lifted my spirits, and really brightened my days. So thank you so, so much. (I'll hopefully get to replying to them tomorrow - but I figured you'd rather a new chapter than a comment reply, so I chose to update tonight rather than reply.)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the update!

CHAPTER 9

The rest of the day passed in a blur of boredom and cramped arms. The air in the tent grew hotter—stiflingly so—as the twin suns rose into the sky. Before midday Luke was sweating, soaking his shirt to his back and dripping down his temples, down his spine, down his neck. There was no movement of air; it was still and rancid, smelling of spoiled milk and something dead.

“How do you stand it?” Luke asked, gagging. He turned his head to bury his nose and mouth in the crook of his arm; it barely helped.

“You get used to it,” Talia said.

“How?” Luke asked, turning his head to bury his nose in the crook of his arm.

Talia shook her head in lieu of shrugging. “You just do.”

Leia also kept Luke company. In the long stretches of silence that lay between Talia and Luke, he sank deep into Leia’s mind, and together they wheedled away the hours until sunset.

_ “What I wouldn’t give for a cup of water right now,” _ Luke said after a few hours. His mouth was already as dry as bone, his throat aching and parched. Even the thought of speaking was tiresome.

_ “They’ll give you some water eventually,” _ Leia said unhelpfully.  _ “If they want to sell you as a slave, they have to keep you alive. And I don’t know how long you can last without water, but not very long.” _

_ “Especially in heat like this,” _ Luke added.

Talia was a quiet girl, Luke found. She answered when Luke spoke to her, but she rarely spoke first—in fact, the only time Luke could remember her initiating conversation was when she had asked him if he was alright early that morning, after the first time Luke had disappeared into Leia’s mind. She spoke little and carefully—though when she did speak, she sounded far older than the eight years she told Luke she was. When he pointed that out, she pulled her mouth to one side in a half grimace and said, “That’s what everyone says.”

Around midday, Luke felt Leia’s fear spike. He quickly attuned his thoughts to hers—they had spent the last half hour or so in comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts together—and  asked,  _ “Leia, what’s going on?” _

She sent an image of the man she knew as Big Burly standing in the doorway. 

_ “No,” _ Leia said, both to Luke and, Luke thought, aloud, her fear rising.  _ “Please…” _

_ “Leia, what’s going on?” _

_ “He’s taking me again,” _ Leia said desperately. Then,  _ “Luke, please go.” _

_ “Why?” _ Luke asked, confused.  _ “You’re scared. You need me.” _

_ “No,” _ Leia said stoutly.  _ “I’ve thought about it and...and I don’t want you with me when this happens.” _

_ “When what happens?” _ Luke asked, his own fear mounting.

_ “There’s this room,” _ Leia said.  _ “Big Burly brings me there. And they...they hurt me there.” _

_ “What do you mean, hurt?” _

Flashes of pain, thought, feeling. Burning, and then a terrible ripping, tearing pain in his back. It was enough to make Luke gasp and groan, his mind convinced he was feeling those sensations himself.

_ “You mean they’re  _ torturing _ you?” _ Luke asked. 

_ “I guess,” _ Leia said.  _ “But—” _

_ “I’m not going to leave you alone,” _ Luke told her stoutly.  _ “Not if they’re torturing you. You  _ need _ me.” _

_ “Luke, please,” _ Leia begged.  _ “I don’t want you to feel this.” _

Luke hesitated.  _ “But you need me,” _ he said again.

_ “Be there for me afterwards,” _ Leia said.  _ “But not...not now.” _

Luke swallowed, hating himself.  _ “Okay,” _ he said, relenting.  _ “But if you need me, call. I’ll hear you.” _

_ “I’m not going to call,” _ Leia said.

_ “Okay, but if you do…” _

_ “Okay,” _ said Leia—and with that she threw up walls around her thoughts and feelings. Luke withdrew.

“So, Talia,” Luke said after a few minutes of deep silence in which Luke stewed and hated himself more, “how were you captured?”

Talia looked at him, her pointed face darkening. “I don’t want to talk about that,” she said.

“Oh,” said Luke, feeling even worse. “Okay. Sorry.”

After that, silence reigned over the tent. Luke did not again try to engage Talia in conversation, and Talia did not offer any indication that she wanted otherwise.

The sun set slowly, shadows creeping through the flap doorway. It didn’t quite touch the ground, and through it Luke could see the golden sand, burning in the sunlight, silver in the night.

Twice Luke tried to touch Leia’s mind, only to reach walls of adamantine and diamond around her thoughts, warning him away. If he wanted to, Luke suspected he could break through those walls—they were hastily and crudely made, constructed by someone who only halfway knew what they were doing—but he respected Leia’s privacy, and her desire to be alone, and so did not press against them.

The third time he touched her mind, however, the walls were gone. Instead there was only pain and a sense of humiliation.

_ “Leia? Leia, what happened?” _ Luke asked.

_ “I don’t want to talk about it,” _ Leia said miserably. Then she said,  _ “You should sleep, Luke. You don’t know when you’ll have the chance.” _

_ “But Leia—” _

_ “I’m fine, Luke,” _ Leia said, belying the pain washing her thoughts red and purple and black.  _ “You should sleep.” _

_ “I don’t want to,” _ Luke said stubbornly.

_ “Luke, trust me, it’s easier to handle things if you aren’t tired.” _

_ “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” _ Luke said,  _ “I’m just worried about you.” _

_ “I’m fine,”  _ Leia said again.  _ “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.” _

Luke sagged in his bindings, the shackles biting into the soft skin of his wrist, and leaned his head against his arm, closing his eyes. Sleep was long in coming in the thick air of  the tent, however. The hide walls had trapped the heat of the day inside, leaving it uncomfortably warm inside while beyond it grew cold.

He was almost asleep when he realized he had, as Talia had promised, grown accustomed to the stench of the tent.

Then he slept.

He opened his eyes to a ravine carved deep between stone banks. The rock beneath his feet was dry like sand, the air cold enough to make him shiver. The moon hung overhead in a sky filled with stars, heavy and swollen with light that bleached the landscape white.

“Oh, Luke.”

Luke whirled, startled, and found himself staring down at Shmi, standing a dozen paces away. She smiled when he saw her, and began to climb the rocks toward him. Luke met her halfway, barely daring to believe what he was seeing.

“Grandma?” he asked.

Shmi’s smile grew. “I’m here, dear heart,” she said, and gathered Luke into her arms. She smelled of jasmine and the desert, and Luke buried his face in her chest and gave into the sobs that had been trying to grow since he had woken up on the bantha.

“I’m so scared, Grandma,” he said. “The Tuskens—”

“Shhh,” Shmi murmured, and pressed a kiss to Luke’s hair. “I know, _ hassal _ .”

Luke smiled through his tears. Hassal was a Tatooin word used only by family, and that crudely meant “my love”. It was one of the tenderest words in both Tatooin and Huttese, and carried a connotation of a love so deep and abiding that the speaker would do anything for the other.

He pulled away, wiping his eyes and his nose with the backs of his hands. 

“Everything is going to be okay, Luke,” Shmi promised. “And I will be with you through it all.”

“You promise?” Luke asked.

Shmi nodded.

“But that is not why I am here,” she said slowly, looking down at him with her warm, dark eyes. A breeze whispered through the ravine, pulling hair from her bun and sending it spinning around her face. 

There, for a second, Luke thought he heard a voice in the wind.  _ A gift _ , it whispered,  _ a gift, a gift… _

“Then why  _ are _ you here, Grandma?” Luke asked.

“To show you something,” she said. “Come.”

Luke followed obediently as Shmi led the way up the ravine, climbing over boulders and skirting around holes bored deep into the bedrock. Slowly, as they climbed, a shape began to grow in the distance—a massive wall made of interlocking stone, rising up, up, up toward the starlit sky, until it all but blocked out the moon’s light.

Shmi halted at the foot of the wall. It met the rock of the ravine in a tumble of stones and gravel. When Luke went to touch it, he found that the wall was smooth and cold like ice, like the desert at midnight.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning to look at Shmi standing a few steps away.

“A wall,” Shmi answered simply.

“Well yeah, I can see that,” said Luke.

“Look,” Shmi said, bending down.

Luke knelt, knees against stone, and looked. In the few beams of moonlight, he could just make out a tiny trickle of water flowing through a crack in the wall.

“What do you make of this?” Shmi asked.

Luke shrugged. “I don’t know. That there’s a crack in the wall?”

“Listen,” his grandmother bade him.

Luke listened. For a long moment there was only silence, and Luke strained his ears all the harder, listening for...something,  _ anything _ . Then, at first as if through a veil, then growing clearer, a voice.

_ A gift _ , the water burbled.

_ A gift, _ the wind sighed.

_ A gift, _ the wall groaned.

“What does it mean?” Luke asked, looking at Shmi.

“That is for you to discover,” Shmi said. “For now, I want you to widen the crack.”

Luke turned his attention back to the wall, and to the watery crack. He fit his fingers into it, and strained—only for his fingers to slide over the slippery stone, cutting the pad of his forefinger in a jagged, bloody line. Luke cursed, the coarse Huttese flowing over his lips with ease, and stuck his finger in his mouth.

“Try again,” his grandmother said.

This time Luke set his shoulder against the wall and pushed. The wall remained resolute and strong, unflinching and unyielding.

“Try again,” Shmi said.

Once again Luke fit his fingers into the crack, but this time he scratched at the stone. All he accomplished was breaking a nail and bending another.

“Try again,” said Shmi a third time.

“It’s not going to budge,” Luke protested. “It’s solid rock. I need tools to widen it. I can’t do it with just my hands.”

Shmi raised an eyebrow. “I never said you needed to widen it with your hands.”

“Then how?”

Shmi smiled. “That is for you to discover.”

Luke huffed in annoyance.

“It will come,” Shmi said gently, taking pity on Luke’s frustration. “But remember what you’ve seen tonight—and remember what I told you.”

Luke frowned. “That I don’t need my hands to widen the crack?”

Shmi nodded. “You have the power to widen it within yourself. All you must do is unlock it.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Luke.

“It will,” said Shmi. “Eventually.”

“Okay,” said Luke slowly, not sure he believed her.

Shmi crossed to him. Taking his head in both her hands, she bent it forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you, hassal,” she said. 

“I love you too,” said Luke.

“And now I must go,” said Shmi. “And you must awaken.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” said Luke.

Shmi smiled. “Me either.” Then she hugged him, tight and fierce, and pressed another kiss to the top of his head. “Until next time, my precious Child of the Desert.”

With that, Luke awoke.

There came the crunch and shush of sand being trod on. Luke blinked, groggy and confused, and turned toward the tent flap just in time to see someone brush it aside. A Tusken Raider entered, carrying a loaf of heavy bread and a flask—a flask Luke hoped was filled with water. If he had thought his mouth was dry before, it was nothing to what it felt like now: like dust and ash and sand.

The Raider caught Luke staring at the flask and laughed. 

“You want?” he asked in stilted Basic.

Luke nodded slowly, looking up at the Raider’s face. 

“Please,” he croaked, his voice coming out cracked and dehydrated.

The Raider, still laughing, set the items down on the mat-covered floor, then crossed to Talia. A key ring and a stun baton hung from his belt. He reached for the ring, selected a key, and pulled it free. Luke frowned, watching as the Raider fit it in the lock holding the chain between Talia’s shackles to the bar. The lock gave a small  _ snick _ and released, Talia’s arms falling down in front of her. She sighed and groaned, eyeing the flask and bread but not moving, rubbing her wrists and rolling her shoulders.

The Raider turned next to Luke. “No try anything,” he said. “You try escape, you die.”

“Got it,” Luke said, and then waited impatiently as the Raider it the key into the lock. Luke heard the same  _ snick _ again, and then his hands fell. Following Talia’s example, he rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his wrists, which were mottled purple, blue, and shades of black.

Going over to the bread and the flask, the Raider bent and picked up the bread. He tore the loaf in half, then tossed them to Luke and Talia. The halves landed at their feet. Then, picking up the flask, he tossed it between them, saying, “Fight.”

Talia lunged for it, hands grasping. She came up, triumphantly grinning—and then paused, seeing that Luke hadn’t even moved.

“Go on,” Luke said. “You drink first.”

Talia’s eyes were wide. “You aren’t going to fight me for it?” she asked.

Luke shook his head. “I’ll drink after you.”

“But...but why?” Talia asked. She was clearly confused by Luke’s actions.

“Because we have to work together now,” Luke said. “We can’t fight each other. If we do,” and here Luke turned to glance at the Raider, watching with an unreadable expression, “well, then we’re doomed to be Hutt slaves.”

“Oh,” said Talia. She looked down at the flask in her hands, then back up at Luke. “You’re really not going to fight me?”

Luke shook his head. “Nope.”

“Oh,” said Talia again.

Behind him, Luke heard the Raider sniff in disgust. “Hurry up,” he grunted. “I don’t have all morning.”

Talia, with eyes wide wince more, took three big gulps of water, then, almost shyly, crossed to Luke and handed him the flaks. “Here,” she said softly.

“Are you done?” Luke asked, shaking the flask as he spoke. Th water sloshed around in it, half empty.

Talia nodded.

“Okay,” said Luke. He smiled. “Thanks.”

He drank quickly—too quickly, spilling a precious dribble of water down his chin to soak the front of his shirt.

Luke held the flask out to the Raider, who took it with a grunt. Then Luke bent and picked up the bread, ripping a hunk off and stuffing it ravenously into his mouth. It was dry, and tasted like sawdust—but it was food, and that was enough for Luke.

Luke had only just finished stuffing the last bite into his mouth when the Raider stepped forward and grabbed his chain, dragging him back to the bar and fastening his hands to it once more. Then, once he had finished hoisting Talia up and latching her wrists to the bar as well, he turned and left.

A moment of silence followed the Raider’s footsteps. Then Talia said hesitantly, “Thank you.”

Luke, surprised at Talia breaking the silence, frowned. “For what?” he asked.

“For letting me drink. I haven’t...I never have before. First, I mean. The Raiders wanted to keep me alive, so they always made sure I got water, but Mattew—he was so big, and strong, and fast. By the time I got the flask there was only one or two sips left.”

Luke’s frown grew. “Mattew? Who’s that.”

Talia withdrew, her face and eyes shuttering. “No one,” she said.

Luke wanted to press, but Talia looked ready to cry, eyes wide and wet, lower lip trembling ever so slightly.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked instead.

Talia nodded. She did not convince Luke, however.

That reminded him: Leia.

Luke stretched out a thought, brushing it against Leia’s mind. She was still in pain, still ashamed, but though her mind was alight with thought, it had the muted taste of sleep. Luke relaxed in his bindings; at least Leia was safe—for now.

“You did it again,” said Talia.

“Did what?” Luke asked, turning to look at her.

“Went somewhere else,” said Talia.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your eyes got all far-away, and your face went sort of slack.”

Luke frowned. Did he always look like that when he talked to Leia? If he did, he needed to practice more. He had grown comfortable, with just his aunt and uncle around to witness his talking to Leia. They had quickly grown accustomed to his bouts of distance and distraction, and had long since stopped mentioning them. Luke had thought that meant he was better about hiding the fact that he was talking to Leia—but perhaps it was only that they had stopped mentioning it when it happened.

That would be something for him to practice, Luke decided.

In the meantime, however, Luke had more pressing matters to attend to.

“I meant what I said,” he told Talia. “We have to work together. If we do, I think we might be able to make it out.”

“Make it out?” Talia asked. “You mean escape?”

“Yeah,” said Luke. “Next time the guard comes in to give us food, and he unfastens our hands, we jump him. We’ll take his keys, and sneak out of the camp.”

Talia shook her head. “No,” she said. “We can’t.”

Luke frowned. “Why not?”

“We’ll get caught,” she said.

“Not if we’re careful.”

“We’ll get caught and they’ll  _ kill _ us.”

“That was just a threat to make us more compliant,” said Luke. “They won’t really kill us.”

“Yes, they will,” said Talia.

“How do you know?”

“Because…” Talia trailed off, swallowing back tears.

“Because what, Talia?” Luke pressed.

“Because they killed Mattew when he tried to escape.”

“Who’s Mattew?” Luke asked again.

Talia shook her head, but said, “He was here before me. They captured him a few days before me and Mom, he said. After they killed Mom,” and here the tears Talia had been fighting spilled over her cheeks, running down to her chin where they dripped to the floor, “he tried to run away. They caught him, and killed him, and told me not to try it, or they’d kill me too.”

Luke hesitated, taken aback by this new knowledge. “They can’t kill us if we escape, though,” he said.

Talia shook her head. “No,” she said. “I won’t—I  _ can’t _ …”

“It’s okay, Talia,” Luke said quickly. “Shh,” he crooned. “It’s okay, Talia. We don’t have to talk about this anymore.”

Talia sniffed and nodded.

“Do you know how long until we get sold to the Hutts?” Luke asked.

Talia shook her head.

“Okay,” said Luke.  _ That means it could be any day, _ he thought.  _ Which means we have to act soon. _

Whether or not Talia wanted to escape with him, Luke couldn’t just leave her with the Tusken Raiders, to be sold into slavery to the Hutts. He knew enough about the Hutts—and about the kinds of people that worked with the Hutts—to guess what would happen to her. She was, after all, a very pretty child.

Luke closed his eyes.  _ I just have to figure something out. _

~oOo~

When Leia woke a few hours later, Luke was waiting for her.

_ “How do you feel?” _ he asked.

A groan was his only answer.

Fighting to keep his face straight, his expression and eyes present, Luke said,  _ “We have to figure out a way for Talia and I to escape. I don’t know when we’ll be sold—but it could be any day.” _

_ “Okay,” _ Leia said. Her silent voice was layered with pain and she seemed distracted, but she sounded serious.  _ “Then let’s figure it out.” _

They talked in circles for hours as the suns rose and the tent once more grew stifling in the heat. Again and again they came to the issue of the shackles, and the chain that bound their hands to the bar.

_ “You have to get out of those somehow,”  _ Leia said at last.  _ “That’s step one.” _

_ “Which means waiting for the Tusken that comes to feed us,” _ said Luke.  _ “Assuming they take our hands down every time they feed us.” _

Looking at Talia, Luke asked, “Talia, do they always take down our hands when they feed us?”

“Yes,” said Talia. “Why?”

“I just needed to know.”

_ “So you wait for them to take down your hands,” _ said Leia.

_ “I don’t know if I can take him down on my own, though,” _ said Luke.  _ “And I don’t think I can convince Talia to help me.” _

_ “I can help,” _ said Leia.

Luke frowned.  _ “How?” _

_ “I was taking martial arts lessons since I was three,”  _ said Leia.  _ “I can at least teach you the theories of a few moves. That might help.” _

_ “Okay,”  _ said Luke.  _ “Let’s do it.” _

They spent the rest of the day going over basic kicks and punches. Leia would go over each move in painstaking detail, helping Luke to memorize each action and reaction, each move and each breath. Then she would perform the move slowly, then faster, then at full speed, letting Luke feel each one in all of its entirety. She hurt—there was so much pain, and Luke could  _ feel _ it, could feel Leia faltering at times, bending and breaking for microseconds at a time—but she pushed through the pain, made herself complete each kick, each punch, each spin with minute precision.

She was clumsy at first, stumbling through the motions with the grace of years long spent doing nothing but sitting and lying, of years not practicing. Slowly, however, she regained some semblance of her past proficiency, moving with increasing speed and agility through each action.

Luke memorized it all, and yearned to be able to try them himself before they were put to the test.

_ “How will I know if I’m ready?” _ Luke wondered.

_ “Whether or not you’re ready doesn’t matter,” _ Leia replied.  _ “You’re going to have to do it, whether you’re ready or not.” _

_ “You’re right. I know you are. I just...I’ll have to do my best.” _

_ “And I’ll be here to cheer you along,”  _ Leia promised.  _ “I’m not leaving you. I promise.” _

~oOo~

It was another day before the Tusken Raider appeared again with food and water. By then Luke was so dehydrated he could barely keep his head upright, and his thoughts were a dizzying, swirling mess. He had slept fitfully through the night, waking at each shuffle and movement, each stirring of the sand and each breath of wind, hoping and expecting it to be the guard.

He spoke with Talia twice in the intervening time. Each time he asked her to come with him—to escape with him, to leave behind the Tuskens and her future as a slave, to make a bid for freedom—but each time she shook her head resolutely, tears springing to her eyes. Each time she begged him to reconsider, to choose to stay, to not throw away his life for the simple hope of freedom.

He was afraid that he would have no choice but to leave her behind.

As he waited for the Tusken to unlock his bindings, Luke wondered if he would be strong enough to enact the plan he and Leia had concocted. As his hands fell he staggered, and wondered if this was why the Tuskens didn’t feed and water their prisoners—so that they would be too weak to fight them or to escape.

According to their plan, Luke was to wait to make his move until the Tusken went to lock his hands back against the bar. That gave him time to eat and drink—a fact for which he was very grateful.

For all his thirst, however, Luke still let Talia drink first. She gulped down half of the flask then handed it to him. Luke forced himself to take it slow, to savor each long draw of water, to bask in the cool touch of it as it slid down his throat. It was a balm against his cracked lips, against his parched throat, against his shriveled stomach.

The bread was as tasteless and thick like sawdust as it had been, but Luke wolfed it down with the speed of a starving dog. It scratched as it went down—Luke had swallowed before it was fully chewed—and he coughed once, twice, three times, fighting the sudden surge of nausea that resulted from his too-rapid eating and drinking.

_ No, _ he thought.  _ I won’t throw up. I won’t. _

“Done,” the Tusken said, and, grabbing Luke’s chain, dragged him back to the bar.

It was time.

Luke turned and rammed his shoulder into the Tusken’s stomach, sending him stumbling.

_ Now kick _ , he thought. He and Leia had mapped out the entire conflict; Luke just hoped that it went according to plan.

Luke lashed out at the Tusken, aiming for the side of his thigh. 

_ “There’s a nerve bundle there,” _ Leia had told him.  _ “Hit it right, and he’ll go down.” _

The top of Luke’s foot connected with the Tusken’s thigh. He grunted and staggered—but did not go down.

_ “If he doesn’t go down, kick his knee.” _

Luke kicked again, smashing the heel of his right foot into the side of the Tusken’s knee. There was a  _ pop _ , and the Tusken screamed. This time when he staggered he fell to the ground, clutching at his knee.

_ “You’ll have to shut him up quick,” _ said Leia,  _ “or else you’ll draw attention.” _

Luke ran forward, coming to a sliding halt in front of the Tusken. Gritting his teeth and his nerves, Luke struck, curling his fingers and thrusting the heel of his palm forward. His palm struck the Tusken in the throat.

He garbled a scream, and staggered to his feet. He hobbled backward, reaching for his stun baton.

_ Kriff, _ Luke thought.  _ This wasn’t part of the plan. _

_ “If he gets up, you’re gonna have to put him down again,” _ said Leia.

Luke tackled him around the waist.

They went down in a flurry of arms and legs and shouts. Luke rolled, striking at any part of the Tusken he could reach. He heard a grunt, and a gasp—and then he rolled over on top of the Tusken, pinning him to the ground. He delivered one, two, three punches to the Tusken’s face, hitting with his front two knuckles like Leia had taught him.

The skin on his knuckles tore and bled, but Luke didn’t care. He struck again, smearing blood over the Tusken’s goggles—but the goggles fractured, obscuring the Tusken’s line of sight.

The Tusken heaved, and Luke flew through the air. He landed with a crash that forced all of the wind from his lungs, leaving him panting and gasping. Before he could recover, the Tusken was on top of him. He hit Luke one, two, three times in the face. Luke felt his nose break, and blood gushed down over his lips and chin. A pop right by his left eye heralded a flash of agonizing pain that made Luke yell, and it began to swell shut almost instantly.

“Stupid human,” the Tusken said. “Thought you escape.” He reared back, ready to hit Luke a fourth time.

Luke heaved. The Tusken, surprised, wavered—and that was all the opening Luke needed.

_ “Hit hard and fast,” _ Leia had said.  _ “Whatever you do, hit hard and fast.” _

Luke hit hard and fast.

Startled by the attack, the Tusken fell to one side. Luke heaved again and sent the Tusken sliding onto the floor. He rose, whirling, and lashed out his foot to slam into the Tusken’s temple. He misjudged and caught the Tusken in the side of the face, sending him reeling and toppling to the floor.

Luke moved to stand over the fallen Tusken. He was groaning on the mats, one hand pressed against his caved-in cheek and misshaped jaw.

_ Did I do that? _ Luke wondered. It didn’t seem possible. He wasn’t that strong, or trained well enough to exact that kind of damage—or so he thought.

_ “What now?”  _ Luke asked Leia, sending her the image of the Tusken lying whimpering on the ground.

_ “Now you run,” _ said Leia.

Luke knelt and fished at the Tusken’s belt. Triumphant, he rose with the key ring in hand. It took only a few seconds to find the right key—there were only five on the ring—and he fit them into the lock on his cuffs. They fell to the ground with a clatter and clank. 

Then Luke turned to Talia. “Come with me,” he said. “Please. We can do this—we can escape together. We can make it.”

Talia shook her head. “I can’t,” she said. “Please, Luke, stay. Don’t go. Don’t risk your life.”

“I have to,” said Luke. “I can’t just sit by and let my freedom be taken from me. Please, can’t you understand what you’re leaving yourself to become by staying?”

“I  _ can’t _ ,” said Talia. “Please, Luke. You’re nice. I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m sorry,” said Luke—and with that he turned and ducked out of the tent.

There were shouts coming from the rest of the camp, and Luke saw flickering lights waver on the tent walls. 

_ Kriff _ , he thought, then said to Leia,  _ “I think they heard me.” _

_ “Run, Luke,” _ Leia hissed.

Luke ran.

Sand flew from beneath his feet and breath gushed in his lungs. The air was cold against his face, the lights dancing on the edges of his vision. Stars shone overhead, and the moon hung heavy and full on the horizon.

Luke hit the edge of the tribe at a dead sprint. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was doing—only that he was running  _ away _ from the tribe. If he could only get out, get away, he could figure out what to do from there.

He was a hundred yards out when he was tackled. The breath left his lungs in a savage jerk as he hit the ground and slid. Sand bit into his exposed arms and face, and his broken nose and swollen left eye throbbed with enough pain to make him cry out.

A hand wrapped in the back of his shirt, and Luke cried out again as he was flung through the air. He landed and skidded again—and this time his shirt rode up, exposing his stomach and side to the sand’s bite. Luke scrabbled for purchase, rolling and rolling again until he came to a standstill. Struggling to breathe, Luke forced his hands under him and his body up into a crouch.

“Stupid human,” the Tusken who had caught him laughed. “Thought you could escape.”

The end of a gaffi stick struck Luke across the cheek. He fell with a scream; it had been his left cheek, the one the Tusken had punched earlier.

More Tuskens arrived. They crowded around Luke and his captor, jabbering in their own tongue and laughing. Luke looked up at them from his position on his back, struggling to breathe through the pain.

_ “Leia,” _ he cried out.  _ “Leia, what do I do?” _

“We tell you what we do to slaves that run, yes?” the Tusken standing above him asked.

“Yes,” Luke gasped.

The Tusken lifted his gaffi stick above his head and roared. “Then die!”

_ “Leia!” _ Luke screamed, terror riveting her name to the stars.  _ “Help me!” _

The Tusken struck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun duuuuun.
> 
> Okay, so the next chapter is already written, so I'll make the bargain with you all again: 10 reviews and I'll update Thursday, 15 by Friday and I'll update then. Otherwise I'll probably update Sunday or Monday. Seem fair?
> 
> I hope to hear from you! And in the meantime, I hope you enjoyed the update!


	23. Part 2: Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said I'd get it out Sunday or Monday. For some of you it's probably Sunday, for others of you Monday. So! Hah! 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the resolution to this subplot.

CHAPTER 10

Leia was in pain.

Her last session with Vrosha had lasted longer than either of the other sessions, and had left her with more than a hundred cuts across her body, from her face to her stomach to the insides of her thighs and feet. Vrosha had then packed the cuts with a gel that burned, and had sewn the cuts shut using needle and thread.

She had also correctly deduced that Leia had been raped.

“You have the stench of sex on you,” she said with a perfunctory sniff

“I didn’t want—” Leia had begun, only to be cut off.

“No, of course you didn’t want it. But that didn’t stop it from happening, now did it?”

In that moment, Leia thought she hated Vrosha more than she had hated anyone—save, perhaps Twelfth Brother, who had murdered her father, and Pale Eyes himself.

The burning had not subsided. Leia picked at the stitches, pulling them out wherever she could and digging the gel out from within. That helped the burning lessen—but it did not abate entirely. That left Leia slapping and itching at the cuts, rubbing them with tears in her eyes and a groan in her throat.

She spent most of her time, however, with Luke, teaching him how to fight, working with him on a plan to take out the Tusken Raider. They worked for long hours, until Leia pronounced, _“I think that’s about as ready as we can get, unless you can get your hands free.”_

_“Unfortunately I can’t. Though if I could, that would make the whole thing pointless anyway,”_

Then the fight had come.

Leia listened as Luke’s adrenaline spiked, as pain lanced through him, as he cried out.

 _“Luke!”_ she cried out, reaching for him.

She could help him. She could. She could enter his mind. They would become one, and maybe—just maybe—she would be able to help him, would be able to teach his body as well as  his mind how to fight. She was rusty, yes, but perhaps—just perhaps—it would be enough.

Fear still held her back, however. Fear of that wholeness, fear of Luke, fear of herself. Still the rain fell upon the fire of the Force within her; still she quelled it beneath the onslaught. She hid it, quashed it, quenched it.

Then she heard his scream.

_“Leia!”_

She saw the gaffi stick above him, its sharpened tip glinting in the moonlight. She saw the Tusken Raider standing over him, masked face unreadable, backlit by the spiral arm of the galaxy. She saw the stars behind him, glinting heartlessly in an ether of black, staring down with uncaring eyes.

_“Help me!”_

Leia made her decision.

She flung herself into Luke’s mind, heedless of fear gnawing at her ribs and the rain falling in her soul. For the first time, she embraced the Force—embraced its shine, its light, its burning, until it filled her, brimmed over within her, captured her in its eternal orbit. It shone deep within her, a star going supernova. It was everything and nothing, infinity and eternity.

She felt it fill her, felt it run down her bones and into her heart, lungs, fingers, toes. It burned—but did not hurt. Shone—but did not singe. Overwhelmed—but did not drown.

In that moment, she could feel the entirety of the galaxy stretched out at her fingertips—every life an individual thread in a tapestry of a hundred billion, every star a point of light burning in the tapestry, every planet a shadow orbiting the light. She felt the darkness and vastness of space, felt the glory of stars burning in the void, felt the exaltation of the green and growing things on the planets below.

Mostly, though—mostly she felt Luke.

She felt every inch of him, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. She felt the breath in his lungs, the beat of his heart, the rush of blood in his veins. She felt each and every thought in his mind—felt the shape of it, the tone of it, the color of it, until she knew what he was thinking with a simple glance.

More than that, though, she could _see_ —could see what he saw, feel what he felt, hear what he heard. She saw the Tusken Raider standing above them, striking with his gaffi stick. She felt the sand beneath their back, the pain in their face, the cold air upon their bare skin. She heard the chatter and laughter of the other Tusken Raiders, heard the whisper of the wind, heard a voice within it chanting, _A gift, a gift, a gift…_

The echo of Luke’s plea rang in their mind, echoing back and forth and back again, until it was all-consuming.

_Help me._

Leia lifted a hand—and pushed.

~oOo~

Luke knew the instant Leia entered his mind.

It felt like a star going supernova. One second he was himself, one and alone, though his thoughts remained connected to Leia’s—and then the next he was half of a whole stretched across the galaxy. His senses expanded, billowing outward in a crazed cavort, reaching the far corners of space and time—he saw stars being birthed and saw them die, saw the rise and fall of empires and civilizations, felt the life and decay of a thousand worlds—before contracting once more, collapsing in on himself like a star in its death throes. These were no death throes, however—these were the first squallings of a new birth.

The next instant he felt her in his mind, warm, bright, and shining brilliant red, gold, and purple like the canyons at dusk. She filled the spaces between his thoughts, between his bones, between each breath. He could feel her in his body and in his head, spreading out within him, encroaching on each crevice and nook.

It all happened in an instant—and for that instant time seemed frozen, the Tusken above him rigid, the gaffi stick immobile, the stars overhead still in their nightly galliard. Then Luke took a breath, and that instant was shattered.

He felt the command come from Leia even as it came from him. _Lift your hand_ , she said, and his mind replied in kind, echoing and reechoing the order until his hand obeyed him, obeyed her, obeyed _them_ , palm up, fingers splayed.

He pushed.

In later days, when he would reflect on the moment, he would not really understand how it happened. The spark of it came from Leia—that much, at least, he knew. The knowledge came from her, the understanding, the pattern of the movement. The power, though—Luke could not say where the power came from.

It was like an extension of his body. When he pushed, he felt something crack deep within his chest—something intangible, something impalpable, something no hand or finger could touch. Liquid blue fire unfurled within him, spilling into the palm of his outstretched hand and exploding outwards.

It looked, felt, tasted the same as the fire he had used when he finally broke through the barrier keeping him from Leia. It was infinity, it was eternity, it was all the stars and all the worlds and all the space in between. It was as vast as universe, as deep as the ocean. It burned, bright and blue and wild, as it raced through him, crackling down his veins and through his blood.

He pushed—and the Tusken standing over him went flying.

Luke picked himself up slowly, barely daring to believe what had just happened. He regained his feet just in time to see the Tusken pick himself up as well, gaffi stick still in hand, the rest of the tribe watching on in sudden silence. The Tusken roared, and charged.

_“Snap his neck.”_

The order came again from Leia, though this time Luke could hear as much as feel the command she gave. He didn’t even have time to wonder how to do so, however, before he _knew_ , the knowledge flowing through the bond now wide open and shining blindingly within in his mind.

Luke lifted a hand and jerked it into a tight fist.

The Tusken’s neck snapped. Luke heard the bones shattering from where he stood. The Tusken did not even have time to cry out; he simply fell, sliding face-first a few paces before coming to a halt almost at Luke’s toes. Luke bent and picked up the gaffi stick, then turned on the rest of the tribe, arrayed around him.

They were watching him with eyes wide behind their masks and goggles. They whispered—whispered something Luke could not quite make out. He flourished the gaffi stick, heart in his mouth. How could he fight all of them, even with the power he wielded at his command?

“The Destroyer.” The shriek came from a young Tusken, standing at her mother’s side. “The Destroyer!”

Now Luke could understand the whisper passing back and forth between the Tuskens: _The Destroyer_ , they whispered, again and again and again. _The Destroyer has come again._

 _“Who is The Destroyer?”_ Leia asked, silent voice loud and confident in Luke’s mind in a way it had never been before.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Luke replied. _“But they think I’m it.”_

A tall Tusken, bearing a necklace of jade stones, stepped forward. “Please, Destroyer,” he said, words coarse with the Tusken accent, “do not exact your vengeance upon my tribe. We were only doing what we must to survive. Sure...surely you understand.”

Luke frowned. _“What do I do?”_ he asked Leia.

 _“I don’t know,”_ Leia replied. Then she suggested, _“Go along with it. If they think you’re their Destroyer, whatever that is, then use it.”_

Luke took a step forward. The Tuskens scattered back, away from him, dragging their children with them and shoving them behind their bodies.

“Please, Destroyer, do not murder my people,” said the Tusken leader again.

Luke did not know what was going on, but he did know one thing: how to barter.

“You will let me and the girl Talia go,” he said, “and I will not murder you or your people.”

The Tusken bowed. “Of course, Destroyer. At once. Please, follow me, and I will get the child for you myself.”

Warily, Luke followed the Tusken back towards the camp.

 _“This could be a trap,”_ Leia said.

_“I know. But I can’t just leave her here.”_

_“Okay,”_ Leia said skeptically. She did not fight him, however.

They reached the outskirts of the tribe, and the Tusken led the way to the central tent. He pushed back the flap, and motioned for Luke to precede him.

 _“Luke, don’t—”_ Leia warned.

“No,” said Luke. “I’ll wait out here.”

“As The Destroyer commands,” said the Tusken, and then he ducked into the tent.

Luke waited, tense and wary, shifting on the balls of his feet and scanning the spaces between the tents for movement. The only moving shadows, however, were cast by the flickering fires burning in braziers outside of many of the tents.

The Tusken reappeared, leading Talia by the hand. She cried out when she saw Luke, though whether in excitement, gladness, or fear, Luke couldn’t say. When the Tusken released her hand, however, she ran over to him.

“I thought they had killed you,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. She hesitated for a second, then flung herself at him and gave him a tight hug.

“I’m okay,” Luke reassured her, patting her on the back. “But come on, we have to go.” He didn’t want the Tuskens changing their minds and stopping them.

Reaching down, Luke took her left hand in his right. He turned toward the Tusken and asked, “Which way is Anchorhead?”

The Tusken pointed. Luke looked in the direction he pointed, taking in the dark smudge of canyons on the horizon and the shifting dunes between him and them, and swallowed. It was going to be a long night of walking. He nodded.

“Thanks,” he said, not entirely meaning it. Then, squeezing Talia’s hand, he started off in the direction the Tusken had pointed.

In a moment they were beyond the firelight lighting the camp. Only the moon and stars lit their way, gilding the dunes and the sand shifting around their feet with silver.

Luke walked quickly, wanting to put as much distance between himself and the Tuskens as he could. He did not want them coming to their senses and changing their minds to come after them.

That begged the question, though: Who—or what—was this Destroyer that they thought he was? They had spoken with the hushed tones of fear and honor. Was it a demon? A god? An enemy they had encountered before? If it was the latter, Luke would have thought they would know he was not their Destroyer; if it was a demon or a god, surely they would not expect it to come in the body of an eleven-year-old.

Whatever the truth of the matter was, however, Luke was glad to be free—and free with Talia, all the more.

He talked to Leia about it too.

 _“I don’t know, Luke,”_ Leia said. _“It’s a single name, so if I guessed I’d say a demon or god. Though I don’t know why they’d think it was you.”_

_“Unless it was because of the...well, the power I used.”_

_“That power was the Force,”_ Leia told him. _“I don’t know if it came from you or from me, but it was definitely the Force.”_

 _“Really?”_ Luke asked, amazed. _“But I thought that the Force was evil.”_

 _“It is,”_ said Leia, sounding tired. _“But I...I couldn’t just let you die. I had to do something.”_

 _“You think it might have come from me, though?”_ Luke asked.

 _“I don’t know,”_ said Leia. _“I don’t know if this is something that can travel across a bond like ours.”_

 _“Huh,”_ Luke said, secretly hoping that it _had_ come from him.

They lapsed into silence after that, content to simply bask in each other’s presence. Leia was warm and bright in Luke’s mind, and he was able to touch hers with barely more than a stray thought—though he no longer had to do that in order to sense her thoughts and feelings. She was a part of him now in a way Luke did not understand and had barely begun to fathom. Mostly, though, it was just comforting having her so near, even if they did not speak.

Luke and Talia walked for a long hour in silence, unaccosted and unfollowed, before Talia started to flag. When Luke slowed and looked back at her, she looked at him with wide eyes and then said, “I’m tired.”

“We have to keep moving,” said Luke.

Talia flapped a hand. Luke frowned.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, but slowed, still flapping her free hand.

“Come on,” said Luke, tugging at her hand. “We have to keep going.”

Talia trudged on after Luke, though she continued to slow. After a few moments of dragging at Luke’s hand, Luke stopped.

“Will it help if we stop for a few minutes?”

Talia nodded silently.

“Okay,” said Luke, dropping her hand. He sat, and Talia flopped down onto the sand beside him. She continued to flap, however, her left hand joining her right now that it was free.

“Why do you do that?” Luke asked, turning and looking down at her.

“Do what?”

“Flap your hands.”

Talia shrugged. “I do it when I’m happy, or tired, or bored, or watching something I really wanna focus on, or restless, or...or really any time I feel like it. Which is a lot of the time.”

“Why is that?” Luke asked.

“My brain just works differently than most people’s,” said Talia.

“Oh,” Luke said. “Okay.”

“Does that...does that bother you?” Talia asked.

Luke shook his head. “Why would it?”

“I don’t know. It just does some people.”

“Well I don’t know why it should,” said Luke. “You’re nice. That’s all that really matters to me.”

“Oh.” Talia smiled. “Okay.”

They sat for a few more minutes. When Luke started shivering, however, he stood again. “Come on,” he told Talia, leaning down and taking her hand once more to help her up. “We have to keep going.”

Talia clambered to her feet with a small groan, clinging to Luke’s hand tightly. “Do we have to?” she asked, looking up at him.

“I’m afraid we do,” said Luke. “We need to try to make it to Anchorhead before it gets too hot. We don’t have any water, or any protection from the sun.”

“Okay,” said Talia. “I wish we could just sleep.”

Luke tugged her hand and started walking again, pulling her along after him. “We can’t sleep,” Luke said. “We have to keep going.”

Talia sighed. “Okay,” she said again.

“Do you have any family?” Luke asked after a few minutes.

Talia was silent for a long few seconds before saying, “I have a dad.”

“What about your mom?” Luke asked.

“She…” Talia trailed off, then took a deep breath. “The Tuskens killed her.”

“Oh,” said Luke, feeling as if he had been punched in the stomach. “I’m so sorry, Talia.”

Talia sniffed, and paused in flapping her hand for long enough to wipe at her nose. “It was just me and mom at home when they came. My dad’s a hired hand on a moisture farm close to Anchorhead. We live on a little patch of land between two farms about an hour away.”

Luke squeezed her hand. “Well my aunt and uncle can help you find your dad,” he told her.

“What about your parents?” Talia asked.

“I never knew either of my parents,” said Luke. “My aunt and uncle raised me. I do know my dad was a navigator on a spice freighter, though,” he added. “It’s part of why I want to be a pilot. That and I don’t want to spend my whole life as a moisture farmer.”

“You want to be a pilot?” Talia asked.

Luke nodded. “Yep,” he said. “I want to sail the stars.”

“I want to be a writer,” said Talia.

“A writer, huh?” Luke asked.

“Yep,” said Talia.

“That’s cool,” said Luke. “I haven’t known any writers myself.”

“Maybe I can be your first,” said Talia.

Luke grinned. “Maybe.”

They reached the other side of the canyons that Luke had seen when the Tusken pointed him in the direction of Anchorhead. Light spilled across the horizon ahead of them, heralding the coming day. It colored the air, turning the dusty, inky blue of night to warm rose and orange.

“We’ve gotta be close,” said Luke, turning back to look at Talia, who was flagging again. “Just a little further…”

He only hoped that they _were_ close. He didn’t know how much longer Talia—or he, for that matter—could go.

The truth of the fact, though, was that he wasn’t even sure they were headed in the right direction. For all he knew, the Tusken could have pointed them straight into the desert in the hopes that they would die of heat stroke or dehydration.

Even if they had started in the right direction, though, Luke suddenly feared that they had veered off course during the night. Even a few feet off track at the beginning could mean miles out of the way by the time they would have reached Anchorhead.

Luke’s stomach tightened. Had he just consigned Talia and himself to a long, slow death beneath Tatooine’s twin suns? Had they traded slavery for death?

Turning back forward, Luke caught sight of a moving smudge of shadow. He tensed, and grabbed Talia to a halt. “Quick,” he hissed, not knowing who it was coming their way—and not wanting to risk it. “Back into the canyon.”

They ran back the way they had come, sand spurting out from under their heels, Luke half-dragging Talia after him. She ran doggedly, trying to keep up with him, holding his hand tightly. The walls of stone rose up around them, swallowing the light on the horizon and plunging them back into shadow.

Luke skimmed the walls to either side. “Come on,” he said, and tugged Talia to the left, toward an area of darker shadow that promised a cleft in the rock. He pushed Talia down into it and, kneeling, whispered, “Stay here. I’m going to have a look.”

“Wait, Luke,” she called after him, reaching out with a hand and making a grab for the back of his shirt. He was already gone, however.

Luke waited just on the edge of the shadows cast by the canyon walls, crouched down by the cracked stone of the ground, watching the wavering figure draw closer. It seemed to ripple in the wind, and the nearer it got, the more indistinct it became, as if it was clad in water. Luke watched it come with rising horror, wondering just what it was that was approaching him.

The first sun lifted its head above the horizon, shedding hot light across the desert—and Luke at last recognized the figure bearing down upon him.

“Ben,” he cried, standing up and running forward. “Ben!”

Old Ben Kenobi stopped in his tracks, startled. Then, abruptly, he laughed, hurrying forward. “Luke, is that you?” he called.

Luke barreled into Ben and hugged him fiercely around the waist, relieved to see a familiar face. “Oh, Ben,” Luke laughed, “I’m so happy to see you.”

“What happened, Luke?” Ben asked when Luke pulled away, grinning. “Where have you been? Your aunt and uncle have been worried sick. And what happened to your face?” he asked, touching a gentle finger to Luke’s nose and eye.

“I was captured by Tusken Raiders,” Luke said. “They were going to sell me to the Hutts.”

“And how did you get free?” Ben asked.

“Come on,” said Luke. “We have to go get Talia. I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Talia?” Ben asked, but obligingly started after Luke.

“A girl I met in the Raider camp. They captured her and killed her mom.”

A dark look flashed across Old Ben’s face, but he said nothing.

“She and her parents live outside of Anchorhead. I thought Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru could maybe take her home.”

“I will make sure she makes it home safely,” said Ben. “After I get you home. Now, tell me how you escaped the Tuskens.”

Luke did so, but omitted the parts with Leia, only telling Ben that he had fought the Tusken—and not that he had learned how to fight from the girl in his head—and that he had no idea where the power he unlocked came from. He wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Ben that his connection with Leia was still very real and very strong; after all, Ben _had_ tried to sever their bond.

The first sun had fully risen and they were nearing the place Luke had left Talia when Luke finished his story.

“Any idea what they meant by The Destroyer?” he asked.

Old Ben frowned. “I’ve never heard of a Destroyer—but then, I’m not very keen on Tusken mythology.”

They reached the hole Luke had shoved Talia down into.

“Talia?” he called. “Come on out. This is Ben. He’s a friend.”

Talia appeared slowly, face smudged with dirt and green eyes wide. Her hands were still at her sides.

“Hello there,” Old Ben said, smiling gently and kneeling down to be on a level with Talia. He held out a hand. “I’m Ben Kenobi. And you must be Talia.”

Talia nodded. Tentatively she put out a hand and shook Ben’s. “Nice to meet you,” she said in a shy, careful voice.

“It’s very nice to meet you too,” said Ben. “Luke here was just telling me about how you two escaped.”

Talia let go of Ben’s hand and rushed over to Luke, grabbing his hand and hiding behind him.

Luke laughed. “It’s okay, Talia,” he said. “Ben’s a friend. He’s going to make sure you get home.”

Talia looked up at him. “You mean you’re not coming with me?”

Luke hesitated. “No,” he said, “Ben was going to take me home first.”

Talia clung to Luke’s hand. “Please don’t,” she begged. “Don’t leave me with him.” She looked up at Luke, wide eyes wet and lower lip trembling. “You can’t… I mean, please don’t… I don’t _know_ him, and…”

“It’s okay, Talia,” Luke said quickly. “Ben’s a friend.”

“But I don’t know him.”

Luke looked up at Ben, who was watching the exchange impassively, then back down at Talia. “It’s okay,” he said again. “I’ll come,” Luke said—and then looked guiltily up at Ben. “Please, Ben?” he asked.

Ben looked between Talia and Luke, then sighed. He seemed to note the way Talia clung to Luke’s hand, and the way she hid behind him. “Very well,” he said. “We’ll stop by Talia’s house first. But then we’re going straight home, Luke.”

Luke nodded, grinning. “Okay.”

“Now, where is your home, Talia?” Ben asked.

Talia looked up at him and shook her head slightly. “I can get there from Anchorhead, but I don’t know what direction it is.”

“That’s okay,” said Ben. “We should stop by Anchorhead first anyway. You two need water and food—and I don’t have much by way of either with me.”

What he did have, however, he gave to them. As he had in the Tusken camp, Luke allowed Talia to drink first. She drank half of what was left in Old Ben’s canteen, then handed it to Luke who gulped the remaining tepid water down in three large drinks. Ben also had some jerky which he split in half and gave to Luke and Talia. They gnawed at it as they started walking once more.

After only half an hour Talia started to slow once more. “Wait, Ben,” Luke called to the older man, who was walking ahead of them. “I think we need to stop for a few minutes.”

Old Ben turned and came back, looking from Luke to Talia. Instead of agreeing with Luke, however, he turned his back and knelt. He looked over his shoulder and winked at Talia. “Well, your highness?” he asked. “Do you want me to give you a piggyback ride?”

Talia giggled and started toward Old Ben before hesitating and looking up at Luke. Luke nodded. Talia ran forward and climbed onto Ben’s back, hugging him around the neck. Ben stood, hooking his arms around Talia’s knees, and then started walking once more.

He carried Talia all the way until Anchorhead was a brushstroke of shadow on the horizon. Only then did he put her down and let her walk with her hand firmly encased in Luke’s once more. Even after that, though, it still took nearly an hour for them to reach the small town.

“My house is this way,” said Talia, once they hit Anchorhead’s main street.

“Before that,” said Old Ben, “I promised you two lunch.”

He took them to Anchorhead’s single diner. It was a short, squat building made of adobe and sandstone, with tiny windows along the top of the outer wall that let in slanting shafts of sunlight. The floor was swept stone, and the walls were hung with various desert paintings and bleached skulls of various desert-dwelling creatures.

A rundown, puttering droid escorted them to a table at the back of the diner, then took their orders for water. It putzed away, making clanking sounds as it rolled and muttering to itself, leaving Ben with Talia and Luke.

Their waters came, and with it three menus. Luke read over it carefully, trying to decide what it was he wanted. He never got to eat out with his aunt and uncle, except on trips they took into Mos Eisley to trade water for parts and things they needed around the farm. Even then, they ate most of their meals from food they brought from home. Eating out was a rare and delicious treat, and Luke didn’t want to waste a precious moment of it.

 _“Luke?”_ Leia asked, coming into his mind with a blaze of light and warmth. She had drifted off to sleep shortly after their conversation about the Force.

 _“Leia,”_ Luke exclaimed excitedly, _“Old Ben is here, and he’s taking Talia and me out to eat.”_

He went to show her a picture of Ben sitting across from him and Talia beside him, only for Leia to say, _“I see them.”_

 _“You see them?”_ Luke asked.

 _“Yeah,”_ said Leia. _“It’s like I can see through your eyes.”_

 _“That’s cool,”_ said Luke excitedly. _“I wonder if I can do the same thing.”_ He tried.

He fell through the ember and into Leia’s mind. It was easier than ever before, and felt as natural as breathing. He landed in her mind, and concentrated on seeing what she was seeing. For a second nothing happened—and then it felt as if he was opening his eyes _inside of her_. He saw light, and then duracrete walls. There was a mattress beneath him, and something soft pressing against his chest— _their_ chest.

 _“I could sometimes feel things from you,”_ Luke said, awed, _“but nothing like this.”_

 _“Isn’t it cool?”_ asked Leia.

_“Yeah.”_

“Are you okay, Luke?” Talia asked, breaking Luke out of his conversation with Leia. “You have that weird look on your face again.”

Luke blushed and glanced at Old Ben. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just trying to figure out what to have.”

 _“We can’t talk right now,”_ Luke told Leia, pulling the menu up in front of his face so that Ben couldn’t see his face. _“Ben is here, and I look funny when I talk to you. I don’t want him knowing we’re still connected.”_

 _“Okay,”_ said Leia. She did not, however, withdraw. _“Is it okay if I stay with you?”_ she asked. _“I...I’d like to get to know your life better.”_

 _“Of course,”_ said Luke, still pretending to read the menu. _“I’d love for you to do that.”_

The droid arrived to take their orders. Old Ben looked at Luke and Talia, then, when they made no move to order, turned to the droid with a smile.

“I’ll have the grilled womprat breast with blue milk sauce, bantha cheese, and sand crollix,” he said.

Talia, taking her cue from Ben, wriggled in her seat and said, “I want the bantha burger. Please.”

The droid input the order on the pad it carried, then wheeled around to Luke. “And for you, young sir?”

Luke looked frantically back at the menu—he had talked to Leia instead of deciding what he wanted to eat—and said the first thing his eyes fell on. “I’ll have the bantha gyro,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret his choice.

“Perfect,” the droid said, and collected their menus. “Your food will be out shortly.”

Ben, Talia, and Luke waited in uncomfortable silence for a few long minutes, Luke and Talia shifting in their seats and periodically gulping at their tall glasses of water. Ben remained more sedate, sipping rather than gulping; he looked very regal, Luke decided, sitting there in his robes of brown and beige, his ginger hair and beard tousled from the desert wind. For an instant—but just an instant—he seemed more than just the crazy old hermit that lived out beyond the Dune Sea. He seemed somehow...more. Then the moment passed, and he was just Old Ben again.

“Tell me about your father,” said Ben at last, turning to Talia. “Is he a good man?”

Talia smiled. “Yes. Whenever he’s home he tucks me into bed and tells me a bedtime story. He tells the _best_ stories, with different voices, and sometimes he acts them out too. And when we listen to the audiobox and a good song comes on, he’ll dance with me on his toes. When he’s home, at least.”

A pang ran through Luke, from his heart to his stomach, ending in a tight knot. It didn’t come from him, though—it came from Leia.

 _“Are you okay?”_ he asked, trying to keep his face straight and impassive.

 _“Yeah,”_ Leia said—but she didn’t sound okay.

_“What’s wrong?”_

_“I just… My father. He used to tell me bedtime stories. And dance with me on his toes.”_

For just an instant Luke caught a glimpse of a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and olive skin, whose eyes danced and lips curled into an easy, comfortable smile. He felt warm and happy, as if love poured from the man before him in a wave deep enough to drown any hate, any pain, any loss.

Then blood on flowers, a halo of glass, and a ragged, desperate scream.

Luke blinked, swallowing back a gasp of agony. He had seen the image of the blood on the flowers before, but never had he experienced such a profound sense of loss and pain when he did so. Was it his new, strengthened connection with Leia that let him feel this pain so acutely?

 _“Sorry,”_ Leia gasped. _“I didn’t mean—”_

 _“It’s okay,”_ Luke said quickly. _“It’s okay.”_

“Are you alright, Luke?” Old Ben asked, his eyebrows lowering over his bright eyes.

“Yeah,” said Luke hurriedly. “Just hungry.”

 _I really have to work on this,_ he thought. _I can’t keep getting asked if I’m okay whenever I talk to Leia._

 _“No,”_ said Leia. _“You can’t. And I should practice too.”_

 _“You could hear me?”_ Luke asked, startled.

_“Well...yeah. Didn’t you just talk to me?”_

_“No,”_ said Luke. _“That was a thought.”_

 _“You mean we can read each other’s thoughts now too?”_ Leia asked, shocked.

 _“It would seem so,”_ said Luke.

There was a pause, then Luke felt Leia nod. _“That makes sense. I...I knew we could, even. That’s part of why I was so afraid to enter your mind.”_

 _“You were afraid?”_ Luke asked.

_“Yeah. But we should talk about this later.”_

_“You’re right,”_ Luke said, and forced himself to smile at Old Ben, who was looking at him oddly again.

“You’re sure you’re alright, Luke?” Ben asked.

“I’m sure,” said Luke. He turned and saw the droid returning, balancing three plates of food on its spindly arms. “Look, food’s here!”

They tucked in ravenously—Luke and Talia more so than Ben—and for a few minutes the only sound coming from their table was that of chewing. Talia finished first, popping the last of the potato squares that had accompanied her bantha burger into her mouth. She settled back with a happy sigh, and drained the rest of her water glass, which the droid had refilled twice already since she had started eating.

Luke finished shortly thereafter, licking his fingers of the gyro sauce and also draining his water glass.

“How do you two feel?” Ben asked, cutting another small piece off of his womprat breast.

“Good,” said Luke. He turned to Talia, who was flapping her hands again. “You, Talia?”

“Really good,” she said, smiling broadly.

“Good,” said Ben, finishing his womprat. He stood. “Let’s pay and get going.”

They paid at the front counter. Old Ben put down a stack of credits, which the droid tender counted. “Thank you for your service,” it said in a bright, falsetto voice that did not match its bulky chest.

“Thank you,” Ben said in reply, then ushered Luke and Talia out of the front door and back into the bright Tatooine sunlight. “Now,” Ben said, once they were standing in the street, “which way to your house, Talia?”

Talia pointed down the street toward the first sun’s position. “That way,” she said.

“Okay,” said Ben. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence, Talia holding onto Luke’s left hand and flapping her free one. Luke grinned down at her, and followed Ben.

It took over an hour for them to reach the homestead that Talia pointed out as her family’s. It was a small adobe house set into a cliff face, with windows in the rock wall promising more room inside. There was a small, attached garage, and a tool shed off to the right.

As soon as they were within a hundred yards of the front door, Talia released Luke’s hand and took off running, calling, “Daddy, daddy, daddy!”

The front door opened when Talia was halfway there. A tall, red-haired man appeared in the doorway, shock and amazement etched across his bearded face. He ran out onto the front stoop, leapt down the two short stairs, and took off sprinting toward Talia. He met her halfway there, falling to his knees to scoop her up into a tight, fierce hug.

As Luke and Ben approached at a more sedate pace, Luke could hear the man saying, over and over again, “Talia, my sweet, sweet Talia.”

“I take it you are her father?” Ben asked, coming to a halt a few paces away from the man still holding Talia tight against his chest.

“I am,” the man said, standing and lifting Talia with him. He settled her on his hip, and she clung to him with a smile, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I take it I have you to thank for her safe return?”

Ben smiled. “Actually,” he said, “you have young Luke here to thank. He’s the one that freed her, and got her halfway home. I only met them on the road.”

The man knelt and extended his free hand to Luke. Luke took it, and the man gave it a firm shake.

“Thank you, then, Luke,” said the man. “My name is Torfus, and if ever there is anything I can do for you, I hope that you will come to me.”

“I will,” said Luke, gripping the man’s hand in return.

Talia yawned, her eyes blinking slowly shut.

“I believe it may be time for young Talia to get some rest,” put in Ben smoothly. “I doubt she has had any good sleep in quite a while.”

“Oh, yes,” said Torfus. “Of course. Thank you again—to both of you.” He held out a hand to Ben, who shook it as well. “And now I will take my leave of you to get Talia to bed. I hope to see you both again someday.”

Old Ben smiled. “I think we will,” he said.

With that, Torfus turned and began to walk away—only for Talia to wriggle in his hold. He said something to her, to which she nodded. He put her down.

Talia came racing back to Luke. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. After a surprised second, Luke hugged her back.

“Take care of yourself, Talia,” he said softly into her ear. “‘Kay?”

“Okay,” said Talia into his chest.

After a long moment she let him go. She looked up at him, grinning through tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” said Luke.

Talia turned and skipped back to her father, who took her left hand in his. Then they turned and walked into the house.

Old Ben turned and looked down at Luke. “Are you ready to go home?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Luke. “I am.”

The twin suns were setting by the time Luke and Ben arrived at his home. They had talked only briefly on the way, instead maintaining a comfortable silence for most of the walk.

“Luke,” Ben had said, though, once they were far enough away from the Talia and Torfus’s home that they couldn’t be overheard, “I need to talk to you about what happened with the Tuskens.”

“Okay,” Luke had said slowly.

“Do you know how you were able to push that Tusken away and break his neck?”

“No,” Luke had lied.

“It’s called the Force. You are strong in the Force. It comes from your father.”

Luke doubted that. He wasn’t strong in the Force, was he? It had just been Leia using the Force through him—hadn’t it?

“But my father was just a navigator on a spice freighter,” Luke had said aloud, frowning. “He didn’t have any weird powers.”

“There is much about your father that you don’t know,” Ben had said. “Much I need to tell you—but not yet. For now all you need to know is that your aunt and uncle don’t like the Force.”

“Does that mean I can’t tell them what happened?” Luke asked.

“Only that you need to be prepared for them not taking it well.”

“Okay,” Luke had said. “Thank you.”

After that they had lapsed into silence—a silence that carried them to Luke’s home. At last, however, they reached the homestead, the white adobe guardhouse glimmering in the early evening sunlight.

Luke started to run forward, only to check himself. He looked up at Old Ben, who smiled and chuckled. “Well go on,” he said, motioning for Luke to run ahead.

Grinning, Luke obeyed. He dashed forward, calling, “Aunt Beru! Uncle Owen! I’m home!” He reached the guardhouse and ducked into the cool, welcoming shadows within, all but tumbling down the stairs and out into the courtyard.

His aunt was just coming out of the kitchen when he reached the courtyard. She was carrying a plate—which she dropped with a crash when she saw Luke. She gave a glad cry and started forward. Luke ran into her arms, burying his face in her chest and hugging her tightly. She hugged him back, fierce enough to crush a gundark, and peppered his hair and face with kisses when he looked up at her.

“Oh, Luke,” she cried, hugging him again. “We thought you were dead.”

“Nope,” said Luke. “The Tuskens took me. They were going to sell me to the Hutts, but I managed to escape.”

Aunt Beru kissed his forehead, then the top of his head. “We were so scared,” she said quietly. She drew back just enough to look down at him. “Your face,” she said, touching a fingertip to his eye. “What happened?”

“Beru, what’s going on?”

Luke stepped out of his aunt’s embrace in time to see his uncle come out of the greenhouse. He was wearing gloves, and there was dirt smeared on his forehead and cheek. He stopped when he saw Luke, however—stopped dead, eyes widening.

“Luke!” he exclaimed and hurried forward. “Luke, where have you been?”

“The Tuskens captured me,” Luke said.

Uncle Owen’s face paled, but he nodded. “We were afraid of that. How did you escape?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” said Luke softly after an awkward few seconds. He didn’t want to risk his aunt and uncle reacting badly to news of him using the Force—whether it was him or Leia—and he didn’t know how to tell them about his escape without mentioning the Force.

Uncle Owen hesitated, but then he grunted, gruff and familiar. “I’m glad you were able to escape, no matter how you did it.”

Luke stepped forward, then asked in a very small voice, “Can I have a hug?”

Uncle Owen opened his arms. Luke rushed forward, crushing himself to his uncle’s chest. Uncle Owen hugged him tightly in return. For an instant, Luke thought he heard his uncle whisper, “I was so scared, Luke,” but then his uncle released him, and Luke thought he must have imagined it.

Old Ben cleared his throat. He was standing at the bottom of the steps leading up to the guardhouse, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his brown robe. “I will take my leave,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Uncle Owen, taking a step forward. “Thank you for seeing Luke home safe.”

“He would have found his way home without me, I think,” said Ben. “But you’re welcome.”

“If you ever need anything…” Uncle Owen began.

Old Ben smiled. “Thank you,” he said, and bowed slightly. “Now farewell, Owen, Beru. Luke.”

“Bye,” said Luke. Then, “Thank you.”

Ben’s smile widened. “You’re welcome.”

With that, he turned and disappeared up the stairs.

Aunt Beru turned to Luke and said, “Dinner is almost ready. Why don’t you come in and wash up? I’ll help you get your face clean—and we’ll take you in to get that eye and nose looked at tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” said Luke. It would be nice to clean off the sweat and blood and dirt.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” said Uncle Owen, turning back to the greenhouse. “I have just a little more to finish up and I’ll be in.”

Aunt Beru looped an arm over Luke’s shoulders and guided him inside. At the door to the kitchen she stopped, turned, and kissed him once more on the temple.

“I’m so glad you’re home safe,” she said softly, and released him. “We’ll take you in to get your eye and nose looked at tomorrow.”

“Okay,” said Luke. “I’m glad to be home too,” he added, and turned to go to the ‘fresher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back to battling writer's block. Any and all encouragement would be much appreciated...(*hint hint* *nudge nudge*) Most importantly, though, I hope you enjoyed.


	24. Part 2: Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hnnnng idk how I feel about this chapter, but I'm just so *sick* of it at this point that I just wanted to get it out and done with. So. Here, have a chapter. I hope that you enjoy regardless of whether it's a very "good" chapter or not...

CHAPTER 11

The next day Aunt Beru brought Luke to the urgent care unit in Mos Eisley. The harried doctor took one look at him and announced that he needed bacta.

“We don’t have the money—” Aunt Beru began.

The doctor waved his hand. “We have systems set in place to help those who can’t afford care. I’ll put you in contact with the medical office in Mos Espa. They’ll get you sorted. Right now this young man needs bacta.”

It was the first time Luke had ever been in bacta. It felt strange, he decided as he sat down in the horizontal tank: like gel, but warm. The doctor fitted a mask over his face, then gently pushed him down and sealed the lid over him. In seconds, Luke was asleep.

He dreamed.

He was standing on the edge of a ravine, a river running hard and fast at the bottom of it. The walls were pitted and cracked, stunted trees, grass, and wildflowers growing out of the splits in the rock. Luke looked over the edge and down to the water. The moon, heavy and swollen with light, hung reflected in the waves, wavering and insubstantial.

Curious, Luke followed the river upstream, hugging close to the edge of the ravine, occasionally sending cascades of dirt and pebbles over the lip and down, down, down to splash in the water.

After a few moments of walking, a shape began to materialize in the river ahead of him, spanning from bank to bank—something large and black. Something familiar. Luke quickened his pace, and as he drew near, he became more and more certain of what he was seeing.

It was the wall—the wall that Shmi had showed him, with the crack and tiny flow of water trickling through it. Only now it wa more than just a crack. Now, Luke saw as at last he drew abreast of the wall, it was a gaping hole, wide and dark, through which water gushed.

For a long moment Luke could only stare. How had the crack widened? He hadn’t been able to do so with his own hands, no matter how hard he had strained. Surely that meant he hadn’t been the one to widen the hole?

Then again, Shmi had said that he _could_ widen it—that he just didn’t know how to yet. Did that mean that he _had_ widened it, without realizing it? But if that was the case, what had he done to widen it? _How_ had he widened it?

 _A gift_ , the water burbled below him

 _A gift,_ the wind teased as it plucked at his hair.

 _A gift,_ the moon sighed as it fell to the earth in silver rays.

“What do you mean?” Luke called out, looking skyward. “What gift?”

 _Oh, Child of the Force,_ the air whispered all around him. _You have a long road ahead of you._

~oOo~

When Luke awoke, he felt much better. His eye no longer throbbed with every heartbeat, and it was no longer swollen shut. He touched his eye carefully, and found that there was no pain. His nose still hurt—it had been covered by the breathing mask, and thus had not been touched by the bacta—but that was a small pain compared to his eye. He just had to breathe through his mouth—and though his nose still throbbed, it was a bearable pain.

“How do you feel?” the doctor asked, coming into the recovery room Luke was lying in. His aunt sat in a chair by his bed, hands folded tightly in her lap.

“Better,” said Luke.

“Good, good,” said the doctor.  He pressed a gentle finger to Luke’s cheekbone, then to the eye socket. He nodded, satisfied with what he found, and said, “The nose will have to heal on its own. It shouldn’t take more than six weeks to do so. If it does, come back, and we’ll figure out what to do then.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Aunt Beru.

The doctor smiled. “You are welcome. You’re free to go,” he added, looking first at Luke then at Aunt Beru. “Just check out with Natelie at the front desk.”

Luke rose uneasily, Aunt Beru standing quickly to grab his shoulder to steady him.  Luke shook his head, then took an uncertain step forward; his legs remained firmly beneath him, and he did not wobble even as he took another step, then another. His aunt released him, and then led the way out of the recovery room and out to the urgent care lobby and the front desk.

Natelie was a short, plump woman with gray streaks in her brown hair. She had a soft face and softer blue eyes, with a pointed chin and dimples in her cheeks. She looked motherly and kind, and Luke could not help but instantly trust her.

Aunt Beru spoke with her. She said something about “Talked to the agency representative—” before Luke tuned her out, focusing instead on the way the sunlight filtered into through the large bay of windows at the front of the lobby.

 _“Luke!”_ Leia’s voice rang loud and clear, so very different from the far-off echo that usually was her voice when she spoke first to him. Memory crashed into Luke, stealing his breath away.

 _Leia’s in my mind now too,_ he thought.

 _“Yes,”_ Leia said. _“I am.”_

 _“You could hear my thoughts,”_ Luke said excitedly, _“just like at the diner!”_

 _“Yeah. If I really focus,”_ Leia said, _“I can hear just about any thought you’re thinking, like impressions or echoes. Unless you think something specific, and then I hear it like it’s being said from far away.”_

 _“Cool!”_ said Luke. _“Let me try.”_

Luke tried. He thought of Leia, sinking into her mind as he had so many times before. This time, though, it was like nothing he had experienced. Everything was brighter, sharper, clearer, as if edged in crystal and glass. Her voice sang within his mind, just as his sang in hers, bounding and rebounding until it was a symphony of perfect proportion.

He sank deeper and found her thoughts, swilling and swirling in her mind like a cloud of mist. He touched one, pressed against it—and he felt it, heard it, understood it. _I’m hungry,_ she thought—-a thought so distant, so buried that Luke wondered if Leia even knew she was thinking it.

More than that, though, Luke could _feel_ Leia in a way he never had before. He had felt vague sensations from her before: pain, cold, something hard beneath her. Now, though, he could feel the pain emanating from dozens of cuts littered across her body. He could feel the gooseflesh on her arms as she shivered with chill. He could feel the shirt pressed against her chest, held tightly in her arms.

He knew her—all of her.

 _“Leia,”_ he gasped. _“It’s...it’s incredible.”_

Leia smiled. He could feel it on her face and in her mind. _“Isn’t it? I don’t know why I was ever afraid.”_

 _“You were afraid?”_ Luke asked, and then remembered Leia’s comment the day before.

 _“I was,”_ said Leia. _“I was terrified.”_

_“Of what?”_

_“Of being so open with you. Of knowing everything—and you knowing everything about me.”_

_“Why?”_ Luke wanted to know.

 _“Because…”_ Luke felt Leia take a deep breath. _“Because that means I can’t keep anything hidden from you. Because I had secrets, but not anymore. Not from you. I_ can’t _keep them from you now.”_

_“Yet you came into my mind anyway?”_

_“Yes,”_ Leia said. _“You needed me. I couldn’t let you die. I just couldn’t.”_

_“Even though we used the Force?”_

Leia hesitated. He could feel the gap in her thoughts, filled with creeping fear. _“I couldn’t let you die,”_ she said again, softly.

 _“Well I appreciate it,”_ said Luke. _“I’m not ready to die.”_

_“I’m not ready for you to die either.”_

It was Luke’s turn to smile. He could feel Leia basking in it, in the warmth and joy of it.

 _“I’m glad you’re alive,”_ she said softly. _“I’m glad you’re okay.”_

 _“Me too,”_ Luke said with an internal laugh. _“Me too.”_

~oOo~

Obi-Wan Kenobi was having a very bad week.

It started with a nightmare.

He was in a duracrete room lit with harsh fluorescents, a bed bolted to the wall and toilet in the corner. A grey shirt sat crumpled on the bed, abandoned and alone, lonely in the harsh setting.

Obi-Wan blinked, and two figures appeared in the room with him. One was a girl—dark-haired, dark-eyed, slight and too pale; he knew instantly, instinctively, intrinsically that it was Leia—and the other was a tall and slender man with dark hair and pale blue eyes. He had Leia pinned to the floor and was rocking in the cradle of her legs, bent at the knees. He moaned, long and low, and Obi-Wan saw Leia shudder once beneath him.

“No.” The word was hoarse and barely audible, a croak and a whisper. “No,” he said again, louder, and reached for the man already straightening. His hand passed through the man’s back, mist over stone. “No!” Obi-Wan cried, and struck. His first fist vanished in the man’s chest, his second through the side of his face. He did not even falter as he bent and murmured something to Leia, then straightened once more and vanished through the door.

“Leia,” Obi-Wan gasped and turned toward the girl lying on the floor in a puddle of blood and semen. He knelt beside her, cupped her cheek. Her eyes were open but unseeing, her expression blank. “Oh, Force, Leia…”

Obi-Wan awoke.

“Now, what are you going to do?”

Obi-Wan leapt out of bed and whirled, lightsaber in hand, to find Qui-Gon Jinn sitting at his small, white table.

“Master,” Obi-Wan gasped.

Qui-Gon smiled mirthlessly. “How many times have I told you, Obi-Wan—I am no longer your master.”

Obi-Wan shrugged, sinking to the floor. “Why are you here?” he asked. Whenever Qui-Gon visited him, in dream or in the shadowy blue form that wavered in front of Tatooine’s suns, he always had something to say.

“You have a choice to make, Obi-Wan,” said Qui-Gon.

“And what choice is that?”

“You know now what is happening to Leia.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I know,” he said tersely. “But what choice do I have? I must stay and protect Luke, guide him and teach him once he is ready.” He looked at Qui-Gon, sitting calmly in one of his two chairs, long hair gathered in its customary half-tail. “If Leia Falls—”

“You were certain she would have Fallen already,” said Qui-Gon blithely. “And yet she continues to hold out, even in spite of the horrors being dealt to her.”

“She _will_ Fall,” said Obi-Wan. “It is only a question of _when_.”

“And you know this how? Have you dreamed some portend I have not? Have you seen the future, resolute and set in stone?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, frustrated. “You know as well as I that, in all but one permutation of the futures I have seen through the Force, she Falls.”

“And you are so certain that the one permutation in which she does not Fall cannot come to pass?” Qui-Gon asks.

“Not without risking Luke,” said Obi-Wan. “I severed their connection for Luke’s sake. With it, he risked Falling as well—and it was no certainty that she _wouldn’t_ Fall if their connection remained intact.”

“So you would damn the child?”

A pit yawned in Obi-Wan’s stomach. “I had to,” he protested softly, doubting his actions—just as he had every day since he had made his choice.

“Luckily for Leia—and for Luke—their bond may have withstood your little test.”

Obi-Wan’s frown deepened, and the pit in his stomach contracted, turning sour. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Qui-Gon remained impassive.

“What do you mean?” Obi-Wan repeated.

“That is for you to discover,” said Qui-Gon.

Frustrated, Obi-Wan huffed a sigh. “Did you only come here to speak in riddles?” he asked, sharp and angry.

“And to ask you: what now?”

“What now?” Obi-Wan echoed.

“Now that you know what is happening to Leia, what are you going to do about it?”

“What _can_ I do?” Obi-Wan asked. “My mandate is to watch over and protect Luke. I did that. I made an impossible choice, but I did—I protected Luke, just as I swore I would. What can I do that would not put Luke in danger?”

Qui-Gon stood. “Very well,” he said, tucking his hands into the brown sleeves of his robe. “You have made your decision then.”

Obi-Wan stood as well. “What else _can_ I do?” he asked—but Qui-Gon was already gone.

Then, four days later at sunset, Obi-Wan’s worst fears were realized.

“I need your help,” Owen Lars said, standing outside of Ben’s hut on the bluff. The suns were setting behind him, turning the dust-filled air to a golden haze. “Luke’s disappeared—we’re guessing he was taken by Tusken Raiders, though any tracks they might have left were swept away before we could find them. If so, I don’t dare go after him myself, or with my neighbors. They will just die—like my father and his neighbors did when they went after my stepmother.”

“So you came to me?” Obi-Wan asked, quirking one eyebrow. “Am I really that expendable to you, Owen Lars?”

Owen shook his head. “It’s not that,” he said. “It’s that I think you _can_ save him. Please, Obi-Wan,” he said, and a shock ran through Obi-Wan’s chest and stomach. It had been long and long again since anyone but Qui-Gon had called him Obi-Wan. “Help us. Help _him_.”

The Force shuddered, and the ripples and eddies Obi-Wan had sensed suddenly made sense. They had whispered, had crooned, had murmured of pain and fear. But Obi-Wan, afraid of what they portended—that Leia was continuing to be tortured and raped, that she was nearing her breaking point—had shut them out. They had not whispered that it was Luke who was in danger; it had felt the same as every other time the Force shuddered at Leia’s torment.

 _I can’t do anything about it,_ he had told himself every time an eddy of the Force had touched his mind and heart. _I can’t do anything about this. I have to protect Luke. I_ had _to protect Luke. Their connection is severed, and Leia_ will _Fall. I have seen it._

The day Leia had been taken by the Inquisitor, Obi-Wan had seen the future.

It had come upon him like a wave crashing over a rock, striking him down and stilling his heart, his breath, his thoughts. All he could do was bear witness to a hundred permutations of the future.

He had seen Leia rise, triumphant and glorious in the Dark Side, eyes flickering sickly yellow, the banner of the Emperor—lit by the blood red glow of a lightsaber—waving behind her. He had seen her kill and torture and manipulate, had watched her murder countless innocents. He had seen the fledgling Rebellion fall, again and again and again, brought low by the Emperor’s new Right Hand.

Then, a breath.

He had seen a broken and scarred Leia standing against the Dark Side, a wall of Light illuminating the shadows. Beside her stood Luke. He was faint, his edges blurred as if the image of him had been smudged—but his voice rang loud and true as he spoke. “I am with you, Leia,” he said, and reaching out he gripped her shoulder. “I am with you until the end.”

Then darkness.

After that, Obi-Wan left Tatooine for six months, searching for information about Force bonds. He knew some about them; every master and padawan shared a Force bond. His bond with Qui-Gon had been severed with Qui-Gon’s death, but his bond with Anakin remained—if fragmented and shattered into shards now that Anakin had become Darth Vader.

He searched long and hard but was rewarded only with fragments of records and accounts, many of them broken and corrupted by Palpatine and his Inquisitors. What he found indicated that twins strong in the Force often formed a bond in childhood—a bond that, if it was not severed, grew into adulthood with the twins, and remained as strong as any master-padawan bond.

The niggling notion that the bond between Luke and Leia was far stronger than a master-padawan bond remained, however. The way Luke had appeared by her side, though smudged and faint, was nothing like what Obi-Wan himself had experienced, first as a padawan then as Anakin’s master. The bonds he had experienced allowed feelings and emotions to transfer between the two halves of the bond, and on occasion echoes of thoughts. Never before had he seen or heard the other as clearly as if they had spoken directly to him, however—not like Luke had to Leia.

Obi-Wan had returned to Tatooine and brooded.

With Luke, Leia had a chance at withstanding the Emperor’s machinations. That was a good thing, right? He should allow them to continue with their bond, not interrupting it or interfering with it.

That night, Obi-Wan had dreamed again of the future.

Leia rose, glorious and triumphant in the Dark Side—and Luke rose with her, eyes flickering sickly yellow, face lit by the blood red glow of the lightsaber in his hand.

“I am with you,” he said to Leia, whose eyes flickered yellow in reply. “I am with you until the end.”

Obi-Wan woke drenched with sweat and shaking, certain now of what he must do.

 _If their bond remains,_ he thought, climbing out of bed and throwing on his robes, _Luke risks Falling as well. I can’t let that happen. I_ can’t _._

He left Tatooine again, this time with desperation. He hunted for five months to discover a way to break the bond between them. This time, however, his hunt was a success.

He found a partially destroyed file of a book regarding Force bonds. Much of it was unintelligible, the corruption so complete, but at the end, Obi-Wan found a discussion of how to sever a bond. He took the file home with him, studying and meditating on it—and in the end, he had a solution.

Eleven months after he had seen the future, Obi-Wan visited the Lars homestead. He found Luke pale and gaunt, bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes.

He severed the connection, sinking into Luke’s mind and finding it, bright and gold, a cord shining amid the shadows of Luke’s thoughts. Obi-Wan cut the cord, sliced it apart with an arrow of the Force, and watched the two ends unravel before him.

Obi-Wan left the Lars homestead with a heavy heart, tears gathering in his throat. He had just damned Leia Organa to death—to a metaphysical death, even if not a physical one.

 _I couldn’t risk it,_ he told himself, over and over again. _Luke was clearly already suffering from the bond._

He slept only fitfully that night, his dreams plagued with nightmares. He saw, again and again, Leia rising in glorious triumph, a blood red lightsaber in hand. He saw those she would kill, those she would maim, those she would consign to Darkness.

In the last hour before dawn, a new nightmare took shape. It was of Luke, standing with his back to Obi-Wan, silhouetted against Tatooine’s twin suns. Obi-Wan approached slowly, cautiously, warily, afraid of what he would find.

Luke turned. “You damned her,” he told Obi-Wan. “You damned her without a second thought.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I had to,” he said, desperate for Luke to understand. “For you. I had to do it for you.”

“Why?” Luke asked.

“With the bond intact, I risked you Falling to the Dark Side as well. Your Fall had already begun, I suspect.”

“You damned her,” Luke whispered. Obi-Wan heard heartbreak in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said.

Luke began to fade, and Obi-Wan wondered if it was really Luke himself, or if it was his own troubled thoughts and feelings manifesting as Luke. It didn’t really matter who it was, though, Obi-Wan realized—the point that they had made remained absolute: Obi-Wan had damned Leia. There was no going back from that.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan called to the fading Luke. Luke looked on with a cold expression. “I’m sorry!” he screamed, falling to his knees in the sand. “I’m sorry…”

Obi-Wan woke up crying.

“Ben?” Owen Lars said, taking a step forward. “Will you do it?”

Obi-Wan blinked, coming back to the present. “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I will. Do you know what direction they went in?”

“No,” said Owen. “As I said earlier, any tracks were swept away before we could find them.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I will leave immediately.”

For the first time ever, Owen Lars smiled at Obi-Wan. “Thank you,” he said, sounding more sincere than Obi-Wan had ever heard. “Is there anything I can do to help…” Owen trailed off suggestively.

“Go home,” Obi-Wan said. “It will be best if I do this alone, I think.”

“Okay,” said Owen. He smiled again. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” said Obi-Wan. “Thank me once I have him safely home.”

“Okay,” said Owen again. He hesitated, then said, “I’ll take my leave then.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and Owen turned and walked back to his landspeeder. Obi-Wan watched him climb in and start the engine, then drive off.

Quickly Obi-Wan ducked back into his hut, gathering his brown robe and lightsaber, as well as a canteen filled with water and a packet of jerky. Then he ducked out of his hut.

He stood for a long moment at the top of the bluff on which his hut stood, eyes closed, listening to the wind and the cries of krayt dragons far out in the desert. The Force pulled and tugged at him, eddying around in him waves and spirals.

 _Luke,_ Obi-Wan thought, _where are you?_

Closing his eyes, Obi-Wan sank into a light meditation trance where he could feel the Force better and more fully. It whispered to him, formless words that Obi-Wan could neither hear nor understand—could only feel the impression of them on his mind. _Luke,_ Obi-Wan thought again, _where are you?_

The Force tugged at him, pulling him forward. Hoping—trusting—that it was guiding him towards Luke, Obi-Wan set out.

He walked all night. The moons slid across the sky, sinking down towards the horizon. The air turned from midnight black to dusty purple, and a swath of light glowed on the eastern horizon. Obi-Wan drank half of his canteen of water, stopping every so often to rest and sink deeper into meditation. Still the Force guided him onwards.

Then, just as the first sun began to rise, Obi-Wan made out a figure detaching itself from the shadows lying at the base of the cliffs that rose before him. It raced towards him, crying, “Ben! Ben!”

Obi-Wan stopped dead in his tracks, startled. Then, abruptly, he laughed and started forward. “Luke, is that you?” he called, barely daring to breathe, to think, to hope.

Luke all but tackled Obi-Wan, hugging him fiercely around the waist. “Oh, Ben,” he said. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“What happened, Luke? Obi-Wan asked. “Where have you been? Your aunt and uncle have been worried sick.” He got a good look at Luke’s face, and saw that his lips and chin were covered in blood, his left eye swollen shut. Touching Luke’s face gently, he asked, “And what happened to your face?”

“I was captured by Tusken Raiders,” said Luke. “They were going to sell me to the Hutts.”

Obi-Wan’s blood ran cold and for a second he could only see red and white. He took a deep breath, forcibly calming himself, then asked, “And how did you get free?”

“Come on,” said Luke. “We have to go get Talia. I’ll tell you on the way.”

Confused, Obi-Wan asked who Talia was. Luke explained, then launched into the story of how he had escaped the Tuskens—how he had fought the guard that brought them food, how he had run, how he had been tackled, and how he had ultimately snapped the Tusken’s neck with a power he did not understand.

Luke finished his story by asking, “Any idea what they meant by The Destroyer?

“I’ve never heard of a Destroyer,” Obi-Wan said honestly. “But then, I’m not very keen on Tusken mythology.”

They reached a hole in the cliff face. Luke stepped forward and called, “Talia? Come on out. This is Ben. He’s a friend.”

A dirt-smudged, red-haired girl emerged from the hole, her green eyes wide.

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said, smiling and kneeling. “I’m Ben Kenobi. And you must be Talia.”

Talia shook his hand and said warily, “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s very nice to meet you too,” said Obi-Wan. “Luke here was just telling me about how you two escaped.”

Obi-Wan tried not to take it personally when Talia dashed behind Luke, grabbing his hand and peering around his leg.

“It’s okay, Talia,” Luke said with a laugh. “Ben’s a friend. He’s going to make sure you get home.”

Talia panicked—and she did not calm down until Luke promised to accompany her to her home. “I’ll come,” he said at last, before looking at Ben guiltily. “Please, Ben?” he asked.

Though he wanted to get Luke home as quickly as possible—wanted to get him _safe_ and back with his family—Ben could not deny him this. Not with Talia looking fearfully out from behind his leg.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll stop by Talia’s house first. But then we’re going straight home, Luke.”

“Okay,” said Luke, grinning and nodding.

The trip back to Anchorhead was uneventful, if slow. After only half an hour, Talia began to flag. “Wait, Ben,” Luke called to Obi-Wan, who was leading the way out front. “I think we need to stop for a few minutes.”

Obi-Wan turned, saw Talia straggling behind, and knelt. “Well, your highness? Do you want me to give you a piggyback ride?” he asked Talia.

After checking with Luke that it was okay, Talia giggled and ran forward, clambering up onto Obi-Wan’s back. Obi-Wan rose, fighting back memories of carrying younglings on his back through the Jedi Temple—he had done so whenever he visited the creche, which was whenever he was on Coruscant, though that had been rarer and rarer as the Clone War dragged on—and began trekking through the sand and sun once more.

They reached Anchorhead in the early afternoon, and Obi-Wan directed them to the single diner on Anchorhead’s main street. His charges went willingly and excitedly, chattering happily together, Talia flapping her hands at her sides.

Lunch was utterly unremarkable save for two moments. Twice Luke’s eyes glazed over and his expression went vacant, gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond Obi-Wan—beyond the present. His breathing slowed, and Obi-Wan could _feel_ the Force gather around him, draping over him like a cloak and hood, descending over him like a veil.

The first time Talia spoke up, asking, “Are you okay, Luke? You have that weird look on your face again.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Luke said quickly, blushing and, for some strange reason, looking at Obi-Wan with nervous eyes. “Just trying to figure out what to have.”

The second time Obi-Wan spoke, frowning and asking, “Are you alright, Luke?”

“Yeah,” Luke said, a little too quickly. “Just hungry.”

His gaze did not lose its far-off look, however, and his voice seemed distant.

Curious, Obi-Wan gathered the Force to himself and reached out a tentative tendril of thought toward Luke. He brushed against Luke’s mind, and for an instant—just an instant, a breath, a heartbeat—Obi-Wan glimpsed... _something_ , buried deep within Luke’s labyrinthian mind: an ember, glowing bright and steady—and within that ember, something else. _Someone_ else.

_Leia._

So he hadn’t severed their bond after all, just as Qui-Gon had hinted at. Or, if he had, they had somehow reconnected it.

But _how_? How was that possible? And how had they hidden that bond from him the last time he had gone to check to make sure it was severed?

Then again, Obi-Wan mused, perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised by the impossible when it came to those two. They were, after all, children of Anakin Skywalker, and carried the highest midichlorian count other than their father and Yoda himself.

What did he do now, though? Did he try to sever the bond once more, out of fear of Luke Falling as well? Or did he leave it intact, with the hopes that it was not too late for Leia? Even if he did sever it again, though, there was no guarantee that they would not simply reconnect again, just as they had before.

On the one hand, Luke did not seem in danger of Falling. He was a bright and happy boy, full of sunlight and joy. That did not seem changed, even after three days as a captive of the Tuskens. On the other hand, though, that could change with the new torments that Leia was facing..

So what should he do?

A new thought came to him.

If he feared Luke Falling because of Leia, and Leia was in danger of Falling because of Palpatine, then the most logical solution was to rescue Leia from under Sheev’s thumb. Doing that, however, would not only put Obi-Wan in danger, but could put Luke in danger as well. He was mandated to protect Luke—not go on a potentially suicidal mission to save Leia.

But saving Leia _was_ protecting Luke, wasn’t it? And if he could save Leia, then he could keep her from Falling as well.

Obi-Wan swallowed thickly.

 _What do I do?_ he wondered.

Very suddenly he remembered his dream of Qui-Gon, and Qui-Gon asking him what choice he was going to make.

 _I know what they’re doing to her,_ Obi-Wan thought. _How can I just leave her there in good conscience—especially when I know now that saving her could mean saving Luke too?_

His only option stared him in the face, bold and terrible.

 _I have to try to rescue Leia,_ Obi-Wan realized. _There’s really no other choice._

He just had to figure out how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? As bad as I'm afraid it is?


	25. Part 2: Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little bit shorter than most of them. Please don't hate me for that.
> 
> Also please note that the rape tw is in full effect for this chapter.

CHAPTER 12

Leia spent the day in Luke’s mind, looking out at the world through his eyes. It was a strange and almost mystical feeling; Leia could see and hear and smell everything Luke could, as if she herself was standing—or sitting—there beside him. In fact, sometimes Leia felt as if she _was_ there beside him, living and experiencing everything he was.

 _“It’s strange,”_ she told Luke on the speeder ride back to the farm. Both of them were staring out at the dunes and craggy cliff faces that passed them by, and watching the condors circle lazily overhead. The road curved and zagged ahead of them, taking them ever deeper into the desert wilds.

 _“What’s strange?”_ Luke asked.

 _“Being here with you,”_ Leia replied. _“I’m so used to just being able to talk to you that now it’s...well, almost overwhelming.”_

 _“Can I try?”_ Luke asked.

 _“There’s not much here for you to see,”_ Leia warned him.

 _“I don’t care,”_ Luke replied. _“I want to be a part of your world just as much as you’re a part of mine.”_

 _“Okay,”_ Leia said, relenting. _“But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”_

Leia withdrew, pulling back into her own mind. She had barely readjusted to only being in her own skin, however, when she felt Luke slide into her mind, bright and brilliantly blue and gold.

He filled her. She could feel his thoughts expanding, taking in every inch and corner of her flesh and bones and blood. She opened her eyes—she hadn’t even realized she had closed them—and she could _feel_ Luke staring out of them.

 _“See?”_ Leia said. She sat up and turned her head, surveying her cell: the cot beneath her, the toilet with its crack in the duracrete above it, the heavy cell door. _“Not much here.”_

 _“How are you feeling?”_ Luke asked, surprising Leia.

 _“What do you mean?”_ she asked.

 _“I can feel the cuts on your body,”_ said Luke. _“I could feel them before, but it didn’t seem like a good time to ask about it.”_

 _“Oh,”_ said Leia. _“That.”_ She shrugged, started to say something, then realized that Luke had felt her shrug. Again she was amazed at their new closeness. _“I’m okay,”_ she said. _“I mean, they hurt. But so what? What can I do about that?”_

 _“Nothing, I guess,”_ Luke said unhappily. _“I wish there was some way to make them hurt less, though.”_

 _“They don’t hurt as much when I’m in your mind,”_ Leia told him.

Luke smiled into her thoughts. _“Okay then,”_ he said. _“Come back into mine.”_

Leia did so gladly.

It was nearing sunset by the time Luke and his aunt reached home. Luke climbed out of the speeder slowly, closing the door behind him and standing there for a moment, face uplifted toward the sky. In her cell, Leia shivered; in Luke’s mind, however, she basked in the warmth.

The fact that she wasn’t _actually_ warm didn’t seem to matter. She could feel the suns on Luke’s skin, could feel the warmth radiating up from the sandy ground. He was warm, and so _she_ was warm, in thought if not in body.

Uncle Owen appeared in the door to the gatehouse, gloves tucked into his belt and a smear of engine grease on his forehead. “What did they say?” he asked Aunt Beru gruffly. Luke turned toward them and started forward, curious as to what his aunt had to say.

“Broken nose and eye socket,” said Aunt Beru. Leia winced internally; she knew how much a broken nose and eye socket hurt. “He spent a couple hours in bacta, which healed the eye socket up nicely. He said Luke’s nose will have to heal on its own, though.”

Uncle Owen grunted and nodded. “I have dinner on the table,” he said, and turned to go back down the stairs to the courtyard.

Luke and Aunt Beru followed.

 _“Does your uncle normally cook?”_ Leia asked.

 _“Nope,”_ said Luke. _“This is rare.”_

They entered the dining room, set off of the kitchen. Grilled womprat thighs awaited them, marinated in tomato and basil and cooked over an open fire. Leia felt Luke’s mouth begin to water as soon as he smelled it; Leia’s stomach rumbled.

Luke sat after washing and drying his hands in the ‘fresher, eagerly looking at the thighs. He bounced in his seat, waiting impatiently for his aunt and uncle to join him.

 _“Uncle Owen is really good at grilling things,”_ he told Leia. _“They always taste delicious.”_

 _“It_ smells _delicious,”_ Leia said. She fought back a pang of jealousy. It had been years since she had had a properly good meal.

She told Luke as much.

 _“Well maybe you can enjoy it through me?”_ he suggested. _“I could feel and hear and smell everything you could when I was in your head. Maybe taste will be the same?”_

At last his aunt and uncle appeared from the kitchen and took their seats at the table. Luke grabbed his fork and speared the nearest thigh, plopping it onto his plate with a spatter of juice and sauce.

Luke cut a piece off of the meat and stuck it in his mouth, chewing slowly. Leia could taste it: the running juices, the marinated sauce, the musky flavor of the meat, the full texture. It was the best food she had tasted—or hadn’t tasted—in years.

 _“If only you could have tried the food I used to eat,”_ Leia said with a small sigh. _“It was the best food in the galaxy.”_

 _“Did your mom cook it?”_ Luke asked.

Leia laughed. _“No,”_ she said. _“Mamá was too busy running Alderaan.”_

With Leia’s statement came a memory: her mother, dressed in full court regalia—a heavy brocade dress of purple covered by copper, Alderaan’s royal colors, makeup that painted her ten years younger, and a crown of amethyst and pearl. She sat on the Throne of Alderaan, a diamond and alabaster seat at the top of nine steps—one for each of Alderaan’s gods—hands resting regally on the throne’s armrests, head lifted high before her court.

Leia felt Luke’s frown, purple and red in her mind, curling down his lips. _“I’ve heard of Alderaan,”_ Luke said slowly _“But what did your mom have to do with running it?”_ A beat. Then, _“Why was she wearing a crown?”_

 _“Because she was the Queen,”_ said Leia softly.

 _“Your mom was the queen of Alderaan?”_ Luke asked, shocked. _“But that would make you—”_

 _“The princess,”_ said Leia. _“Yeah. I was the princess. Was. I’m not anymore.”_

 _“Why not?”_ Luke asked.

Leia froze, then frowned. _“I’m just not. Nobody wanted me.”_

 _“But being a princess is something in your blood,”_ said Luke. _“Not something somebody else makes you.”_

 _“I was adopted,”_ Leia told Luke. _“So it kind of was.”_

 _“But you were the legitimate princess, weren’t you?”_ Luke asked.

 _“Why is this so important to you?”_ Leia asked.

 _“I think it’s really cool,”_ said Luke. _“And shouldn’t it be important to you too?”_

 _“I made my peace with this a long time ago,”_ Leia said, trying not to cry. _“Nobody wanted me. So I’m not Princess anymore.”_

Luke was unconvinced, but he did not press. _“Okay,”_ was all he said. _“Let’s just finish enjoying this womprat.”_

 _“Okay,”_ said Leia gratefully.

After dinner, Luke sat in the living room with his aunt and uncle—as he usually did—and watched a program on the vidscreen. Leia watched with them, curled up in Luke’s mind.

 _“That was the most entertainment I’ve had in years,”_ she told him when the program was over. _“Mostly I just…stare at a wall. Or at the floor. Or at someone, back when the Inquisitors were trying to train me.”_

 _“That sounds terribly boring,”_ said Luke. _“Hopefully I can provide more entertainment now.”_

 _“Now that I can go into your mind,”_ Leia said, _“I’m sure that you will.”_

Luke was just climbing into bed when Pale Eyes came.

The door to Leia’s cell opened with a snick and swung open. Leia sat up on her cot, hugging the spare shirt to her chest, eyeing the door with trepidation.

 _“Leia?”_ Luke asked, sliding seamlessly into her mind. _“What’s going on?”_

He saw Pale Eyes enter, cocky and sure.

 _“Oh no,”_ Luke whispered.

Leia remained frozen where she sat, every muscle in her body rigid, eyes wide and locked onto Pale Eyes’s face, coiled in a smile. She did not even see the second man enter behind Pale Eyes, nor did she recognize him as Crooked Nose.

“You sure we should be doing this?” Crooked Nose asked as the door swung shut behind him, sealing with a click.

 _“Oh, Mother,”_ said Luke hoarsely, seeing Pale Eyes through Leia’s eyes. _“He’s the one that…”_

 _“Yeah,”_ said Leia.

“Why not?” said Pale Eyes. Leia’s eyes were fastened on him: his lips, his eyes, his expression. “Nobody cares about her enough to check in. We can do whatever we like, and when I take her into the infirmary tomorrow, they’ll just heal any damage we do.”

 _“Please, Luke,”_ Leia whispered. _“Go.”_

 _“No, I’m not leaving you here alone,”_ Luke replied.

Crooked Nose shifted uncomfortably, the movement enough that Leia could see it out of the corner of her eyes. “What if we get caught?” he asked, eyeing the security cameras.

_“Please, Luke, I’m begging you.”_

“Nobody cares,” Pale Eyes said again. “Trust me. It’s okay.”

_“If you care about me—if you love me—then go.”_

Leia glanced at Crooked Nose, a pleading look on her face and in the desperate, flat edge of her lips. Crooked Nose’s gaze settled on Leia. _Please,_ she begged silently. _Don’t do this._

He shifted again. “She’s just a kid,” he hedged.

“Look,” said Pale Eyes, “do you want a fuck tonight or not?”

 _“But why?”_ Luke asked. _“Do you want to be alone for this?”_

 _“Yes,”_ Leia said.

“Yeah,” said Crooked Nose. “But she’s a _kid._ ”

 _“I know you’re lying,”_ said Luke. _“I’m in your head, remember?”_

 _“Fine,”_ said Leia. _“I don’t want to be alone. But I don’t want you here either. Luke,_ please. _”_

 _“Why?”_ Luke asked. _“Give me one good reason why.”_

“I didn’t you to come with me because I thought you were a pussy,” said Pale Eyes. “Now man up and get over yourself. Do you wanna do this or not?”

“Yeah,” said Crooked Nose. “Yeah, I do.”

Pale Eyes nodded. “Good.”

 _“Luke, go!”_ Leia shrieked silently. _“I don’t want you to witness this.”_

Luke hesitated. Then, softly, he said, _“Okay. But I’ll be here when it’s over.”_

He pulled out of Leia’s mind, leaving her hollow and cold. Already she had grown accustomed to his presence; already, without him in her head—or her in his—she felt bereft and alone, lost, empty.

Pale Eyes grinned and stalked forward. “Remember me, 851?” he asked, making a kissing noise. He reached the edge of her cot, and Leia crammed herself into the corner, drawing her legs up to her chest.

“Please,” she whimpered. “Don’t—”

Pale Eyes reached out and grabbed her by the ankles, dragging her off of the bed. Leia shrieked and clawed at the cot’s thin mattress, at the bar supporting it, at anything that could keep Pale Eyes from pulling her off of the bed. The spare shirt, which she had been holding tightly to her chest, fell to the floor.

She landed on the ground, hard, knocking the breath from her lungs. She gasped and struggled to breathe—and in the few seconds it took her to recover, Pale Eyes knelt on top of her.

“Hello there,” he said, grinning.

“No,” Leia said. “No, please—”

Pale Eyes cut her off with a kiss. Leia struggled beneath him, choking on his tongue and saliva, kicking uselessly at the air and ground. Her hands Pale Eyes grabbed when she reached for him, pinning them above her head.

“Now, now,” he said, breaking the kiss and sitting up, “we can’t have any of that. Be a good little girl and let me fuck you.”

Transferring her wrists to one hand, Pale Eyes rose slightly and slid his free hand between her legs. Leia shuddered at his touch—but fell still beneath him, a sick, rotten feeling burgeoning in her stomach. It stole her breath, stole her fire, stole her fight like ice in her veins.

“No,” she whimpered one last time, before the ice stole her words as well.

“I want you good and wet before I fuck you,” said Pale Eyes, playing with her.

Leia, frozen, could not respond.

Her body, however, could. She felt warmth grow in her lower belly, felt wetness gather between her legs. She struggled to breathe through the ice and the rotten feeling, which grew exponentially with each stroke of Pale Eyes’s fingers, tried to understand what was happening.

Pale Eyes laughed. “Poor thing,” he said, mockingly insincere. “You don’t even know what’s happening to you, do you?”

Leia whimpered deep in her chest and tried very hard not to cry.

“There,” said Pale Eyes half a moment later. “You’re ready.”

He unbuckled his pants, and what Leia had been fearing ever since it had happened the first time happened again.

It took longer this time. Pale Eyes took his time, rocking in and out of her with a slow, measured rhythm. Leia could only lay there, trapped beneath his weight, beneath his presence—beneath her fear. She could barely breathe, could barely hear anything but Pale Eyes’s grunts and the rush of blood in her own ears, could only think, over and over again, “Please,” and, “No.”

Warmth spilled within her, and Leia gasped, though whether it was in horror or disgust, she could not say. Pale Eyes pulled out of her and stood up, buckling himself back into his pants. He turned to Crooked Nose.

“Your turn,” he said.

Crooked Nose still looked uncomfortable, but he crossed to Leia and knelt between her legs.

Leia lay still beneath him, barely breathing. “Please,” she whispered.

“Sorry, kid,” Crooked Nose said. “But I haven’t had a fuck in god knows how long.”

“Please…”

He unbuckled his pants and shoved into Leia with a grunt, then began to rock in and out of her, moaning with each movement.

Leia, frozen and petrified with horror, could only lie there, feeling him pump in and out, in and out, in and out. She thought of calling for Luke—thought of begging him to come to help her. Thought of going to him.

 _No,_ she told herself, again and again. _No, I won’t let him suffer through this too._

Leia thought of Luke—of his brilliance, of his kindness, of love. She thought of him, and of his care for her, and the way he had always been there for her after her darkest moments. She remembered the house on the lakeshore, and her and Luke racing through the gardens playing tag. She remembered the darkness of the room she had been kept in, and Luke’s bright voice being the only light in her life. She thought of Luke—and something in her snapped.

She screamed, high-pitched and furious, and she reached up to grab onto Crooked Nose’s ear. She ripped downward—and she felt something tear beneath her fingers.

Blood sprayed from the side of Crooked Nose’s head and he shrieked with pain, lifting a hand to clutch at the hole where his ear had been. He shrieked again and stumbled upwards, pulling out of Leia and staggering to his feet, blood already running between his fingers and down his arm to his elbow.

“What the _fuck_?” he screamed.

Leia sat up, feeling an ache in her core and ignoring it. “You’ll _never_ touch me again!” she screamed and, standing unsteadily, reached out with a hand and closed a fist of power on Crooked Nose’s spinal cord.

She jerked.

The crack of bone shattering echoed throughout the entire cell. Crooked Nose fell to the ground in a heap, eyes open and bugging out, mouth hanging wide in eternal surprise.

Pale Eyes stood there for half a second, frozen in shock, and then he leapt into action. He grabbed for the door, wrenched it open, and slid through the gap as soon as there was enough room for him to squeeze through. He slammed the door shut again behind him before Leia could even so much as round on him.

Leia collapsed to her knees, all of the fight draining out of her. _Oh, Mother Love,_ she prayed, squeezing her eyes shut, _forgive me. I used the Force and—forgive me. Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me…_

She only prayed that she had not just spelled her own damnation.

~oOo~

Jerrid Delious, known to Leia Organa as Pale Eyes, was very displeased with a great many things.

“Just tell him I’m here,” he snapped at the Emperor’s secretary. “He’ll want to see me.”

The Emperor’s secretary was a tall, beautiful woman, with blonde hair dyed an unnatural shade of red accented by her choice of lipstick. She had startlingly blue eyes, full lips, and a chin and cheekbones sharp enough to cut. A turquoise dress clung to her curves—curves that she clearly knew she had, and that she clearly knew how to use to her advantage.

“Quite frankly, sir,” she said, all oily business and aggravating calm, “I’m not sure how you even got this far into the palace. There isn’t room for likes of _you_ ,” she stressed the “you” enough that Jerrid had absolutely no misconceptions about what kind of person she thought he was, “here in the Emperor’s waiting room.”

Jerrid ground his teeth together. “Just tell him I’m here,” he ground out a second time. “He’ll want to see me.”,

“As you’ve said,” the secretary told him coolly, with the same infuriating calm. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have _actual_ matters of state to attend to.”

“Fine,” Jerrid snapped. “I’ll just wait for him here then.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” the secretary said quickly, rising when Jerrid made an attempt to step farther into the waiting area. “This room is for those who are waiting for the Emperor only.”

Jerrid spread his hands apart. “I’m waiting for the Emperor,” he told her, “so I qualify, don’t I?”

“No,” she began, “that’s not what I meant—”

The door to the Emperor’s study slid open, revealing a sharp angle of a man. He had brown hair edged in silver and slate blue eyes that reminded Jerrid of ice, a pointed chin, and an arched brow. He was dressed in the Imperial Navy’s uniform, the bars on his lapel proclaiming him to be a Moff.

Jerrid bowed deeply to the Moff. When he straightened, he made a beeline for the closing office door.

“Wait,” the secretary called, “you can’t just—”

“Excuse me, Your Grace?” Jerrid said, stepping into the doorway just as the secretary’s hand landed on his shoulder like claws.

The Emperor, seated behind his desk, looked up.

“Ah, Jerrid,” he said, bringing his hands together before him. “This is a surprise.” There was a hard edge to his words, a subtle warning that Jerrid took note of—and summarily ignored.

“I need to speak with you, Your Grace,” he said quickly. “About 851.”

“I apologize, Emperor Palpatine,” the secretary said, fingers tightening around Jerrid’s shoulder in an attempt to drag him backwards and out of the door. “This won’t happen again—”

“No, Delilah,” said the Emperor. “Let him come in.”

Jerrid could feel Delilah’s shock from behind him. He smirked to himself, shrugging off her suddenly lax hand. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said with a deep bow, and then stepped into the darkly furnished office.

“Take a seat,” said the Emperor. Jerrid obeyed. “Now tell me, Jerrid, what was so important that you disturb my day?”

“It’s 851, Your Grace,” said Jerrid. “She killed a man.”

Emperor Palpatine leaned forward in his chair, steepling his fingers before him. “Is that so?” he asked, intrigued. Jerrid could hear it in his voice.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jerrid said.

“And how did she kill him?” the Emperor asked.

“Here’s the kicker—she did it with the Force.”

“Did she really?” Emperor Palpatine asked, voice dipping low into a hoarse murmur. He sat back in his chair. Through the shadows cast by his cowl, drawn low over his forehead, Jerrid could make out the Emperor pursing his lips. “How...unexpected.”

“How is that possible?” Jerrid asked, leaning forward himself. “You said that the drug given to her in her food and water would inhibit her ability to use the Force.”

“It would appear there was a mistake,” said the Emperor. “Or, perhaps she is stronger than we gave her credit for, and she was able to overcome the inhibitor…” He trailed off, lost in thought that Jerrid did not dare interrupt.

At last the Emperor cleared his throat. “I will provide you with a concentrated version of the inhibitor to inject her with prior to her sessions with Vrosha and yourself. That should be enough to keep her from utilizing the Force while she is being worked on.”

Jerrid swallowed heavily. “Then you do want me to continue raping her?” he asked.

“That was the agreement, was it not?” asked the Emperor. “You rape Leia Organa, and I clear your name of all pedophilia charges?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Jerrid. “It’s just—” He swallowed his tongue, suddenly afraid that he had stepped too far past the comfort zone.

The Emperor just laughed. “What is it, Jerrid?” he asked, clearly amused.

“You’re sure she won’t be able to use the Force on me?”

“Not if you inject her with the inhibitor concentrate,” said the Emperor.

Jerrid was not sure he truly believed the Emperor—but who was he to disagree?

He nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he said.

“Was that all?” the Emperor asked.

Jerrid nodded and stood, bowing low once more. “Thank you for your time, Your Grace,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back as he straightened.

“I will have the new inhibitor shots delivered to you by tomorrow evening,” said the Emperor. “You may go.”

Jerrid bowed again, then turned and hurried from the room.

Delilah was waiting for him. She was perched against her desk, arms folded across her breasts, expression haughty and mocking.

“I see the Emperor did not dismember you,” she said. “Pity.” Then, with that, she turned her back to him and made a show of sitting down at her desk, not once lifting her eyes to him in a clear dismissal.

Jerrid left the palace with all due haste. While she had been an ass about it, Delilah was right—he didn’t belong there, in his prison guard’s uniform and with his calloused fingers and hard, coarse tongue. He belonged in the streets of Coruscant with the rabble, in the dark and dank underbelly of the city planet, where he could drunkenly vomit in alleyways and piss in dumpsters.

He had the rest of the night to himself before his shift early the next morning. He was scheduled to bring Leia Organa—prisoner 851, he reminded himself—to the infirmary first thing. He was not looking forward to it. Though he was loath to admit it, even to himself, he was frightened of the girl now. He hadn’t been—not until she had snapped Ericson’s neck like a twig.

He had never seen someone use the Force before that. Oh, he had heard stories about the Jedi back in the days of the Old Republic, and more recently about the fabled Inquisitors and infamous Darth Vader—but he had never seen it up close and personal.

He had wanted to, before. Now, however, he was glad he had only seen it the once.

He prayed he would never see it again.

 _Is it worth it_? he wondered, as he hopped onto one of the large lifts that carried passengers down to lower levels of the city. He had three counts of pedophilia on his permanent record. This left him unable to get any job other than prison work or the really awful jobs cleaning the city streets, and unable to live anywhere within a mile of someone under the age of 13. This meant he had to move a lot, and that the only places he could rent from were in the seediest parts of town—the parts no parent would be willing to raise a child in, unless they were in dire straits.

 _It’s not_ my _fault I’m attracted to kids,_ Jerrid thought grumpily as the lift dinged. The doors slid open to a nighttime dark street, and Jerrid shoved his way out of the durasteel box.

If the inhibitor worked like the Emperor said it would, then the deal would be back to being perfect: Jerrid got to get off—got to fuck a kid who was only a little older than his preferred targets—and he got his permanent record expunged. That would mean no more living in shitholes, and no more prison work. He would be able to go back to living a good life—one that he didn’t want to drink away every night.

He came to a halt outside of his favorite pub. It was where he and most of the prison crew gathered off-shift to drink and hang out. Jerrid was late tonight—but he doubted anyone would care, or even notice.

He pushed his way in, allowing himself to forget about Leia Organa and the Emperor, even if only for a few hours.

~oOo~

As he had promised, Luke was waiting for Leia just on the other side of their connection.

 _“Mother,”_ he gasped when Leia at last sank through their bond and into Luke’s mind. _“I was so worried about you. What happened, Leia? Why were you gone for so long?”_

 _“You know what happened,”_ Leia said dully.

 _“Did it really last that long?”_ Luke asked, wary and uncertain, afraid.

 _“No,”_ Leia told him. _“I just...I couldn’t face you.”_

 _“Why not?”_ Luke asked, perplexed. _“You don’t think I see you any different, do you, Leia?”_

 _“It’s not that,”_ she said. _“It’s just… I did something bad, Luke.”_

 _“What?”_ Luke asked.

 _“I used the Force,”_ Leia whispered. _“I was thinking about you, and something just—just snapped. Inside me. And I couldn’t bear it anymore. I started screaming, and I ripped off his ear, and then I snapped his neck.”_

_“Pale Eyes?”_

_“No,”_ Leia said with a shake of her head. _“Crooked Nose.”_

 _“I don’t know who that is,”_ said Luke. Leia showed him a memory of him, and Luke nodded sagely.

 _“Okay,”_ he said. _“That’s okay though, right? You just used it once. That’s not the end of the world, is it?”_

 _“I don’t know,”_ Leia all but wailed. _“I just keep thinking about Shmi—about how disappointed she’d be in me. And how she kept saying that I would bring darkness to the galaxy if I gave in and used the Force.”_

 _“Okay,”_ said Luke again. _“Then you just don’t use the Force anymore.”_

 _“But I can’t control it,”_ Leia said desperately. _“I decide I’m not going to use it again, and then I do.”_

 _“Then that’s not your fault,”_ said Luke. _“If you can’t control it, then it’s hardly your fault.”_

 _“But I keep doing it,”_ Leia protested. _“And if what Shmi said is true, then I’ll bring darkness—”_

 _“I think that’s only if you consciously decide to use it,”_ said Luke.

 _“How do you know?”_ Leia asked.

_“I guess I don’t. Not for sure. But it doesn’t make sense that you’d bring darkness to the galaxy by accidentally using it.”_

_“What do you mean?”_ Leia asked.

_“I mean, how can you bring darkness to the galaxy by accidentally using the Force?”_

_“I don’t know,”_ Leia said, fighting back tears. _“But Shmi said—”_

_“What exactly did Shmi say?”_

_“That if I gave in then I’d bring Darkness to the galaxy.”_

_“Well there you go then. If you give in.”_

_“But I did.”_

_“Did you?”_ Luke asked. _“It seems to me that “giving in” means using the Force on purpose, not accidentally doing so.”_

Leia hesitated in her panic. _“Maybe,”_ she said slowly.

 _“I don’t think this is the end of the world, Leia,”_ Luke said.

 _“I hope not,”_ Leia replied.

 _“We should sleep,”_ Luke said then. _“Both of us.”_

 _“Okay,”_ Leia said slowly, much more calmly. _“Thank you, Luke.”_

Luke sank into her mind, bringing with him warmth and the impression of sunlight and moonlight. _“You’re welcome,”_ he said. _“I love you, Leia.”_

 _“I love you too,”_ Leia replied, and withdrew from his mind just enough to fall asleep. She did so, her thoughts cradled in Luke’s, his warmth and light chasing away the fear and dark memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Do you hate Jerrid as much as I do?


End file.
